This chapter contains adult content.
***
"No like it's actually super cool—" Clay rambles next to me.
About half an hour into the drive it turned into all straight roads, and he decided he trusted it enough to turn on self driving mode. I nod into his shoulder. I'm interested but... my mind drifts.
He's using his hands to speak. It's catching my eyes, and most of my attention. I'm watching him gesture, connect his hands, say something about the feats in coding necessary to—
God his hands.
"Mhm." I mumble rubbing my cheek to his shirt.
I'm listening. For sure... I'm...
"I gotta tell George about this later."
I perk up for that. "Just tell him now." I suggest.
Clay considers it for just a moment, then shrugs, shifting his hips to pull out his phone. He's quick in connecting it to the car, then calls.
"Dream? Shouldn't you be busy?" George answers.
"So I'm in a car right now, guess what kind." Clay says back.
There's a moment of silence, time delay, before George can speak. "Is that why you called me? To make me guess your car? Is that all?"
Clay laughs, splitting into a wide smile next to me, excited. "Yeah. Well, I mean, I like talking to you, too, but I've got important shit on the mind. Guess the car."
George hums. "Well say hi to my stream, first."
"You're streaming?" Clay asks back.
My brows lift in surprise. I guess it's time to be extra quiet. I lean back over into my own seat, carefully, pulling my phone out to message George on Discord.
'hi!!!!! im here too but im gonna stay quiet i think'
'after the twitter whatever' 1:37 pm
"Yeah! You still didn't say hi, Dream." George responds.
"Hey!" Clay says back, then lowers his voice, briefly giggling. "Everybody tell George he looks good today."
My phone buzzes, and I see it's a text back from George.
'got it 👀'
'Dream told me about the trip ages ago'
'hope you cool cats have fun ;)' 1:38 pm
Oh? Did he?
"You can't even see me!" George says back.
Clay laughs it off. "Guess the damn car, George."
I get distracted again, hearing Clay's voice as he banters with his friend. He's beaming. My eyes flick down his neck, tracing his body. I turn to double check, seeing that Patches is curled up asleep now.
I can't help myself.
I lean in, slow, careful, making sure Clay has the space and time to stop me if he wants. He turns to look at me, brow briefly furrowing. I close the distance, landing my mouth on his neck, planting my hand to his stomach and dragging my thumb along his shirt.
I hear his breath hitch as I drag my lips across his skin. I dart my tongue out, just to taste, reveling in the way he shivers. His eyes flutter, brief, as he melts into my manipulation. I drag my hand up from his stomach, to his chest, sneaking my lips along his jaw. I can feel his voice vibrating his throat against my lips and his chest vibrating against my fingertips as he continues to speak. He speaks to George like nothing is happening. Though, he's breathier, just slightly distracted.
I move my mouth to Clay's ear, exhaling directly onto it. "Can I go further?" I ask, as quiet as possible.
He doesn't respond, other than to wrap an arm around my upper back and tug me closer. I suck in my lip, holding my breath, dragging my fingertips down his chest and stomach, landing at his waistband. I toy with it, looking up at his face, seeing the growing flush on his cheeks, then dip in, slipping my hand into his boxers.
Clay shudders, lifting a hand to cover his mouth, barely stifling a moan.
"You okay? What was that?" George asks, right as I wrap my hand around Clay's cock.
He moans, uninhibited, high, whiny, then tries to cover it up with several 'mhm's.
"S-sorry." Clay stutters out. "Uh— I just— I just— I was thinking about how when I was a kid my family took a trip to Arizona—"
I freeze for less than a millisecond, before I retract my hand and body back into my own space. Clay shoots me a grateful puppy-eyed look.
"—and it would have been convenient to have self driving." He finishes, blowing out a tense breath and landing a hand on my thigh.
I worry my lip, covering his hand with both of mine, wondering if I pushed him too far. I trace his veins down to his fingers, then wrap my full hand around his index and middle, holding tight.
I settle my head back onto Clay's shoulder, silently listening to the conversation he and George have until it's done. I'm surprised how long it goes, just over an hour. There are multiple moments where I have to hold my laugh, or take a shuddered breath in private.
Still, the second Clay hangs up I speak. "Hey, I'm sorry if that was— well, obviously it was too much."
"It's all good." He mumbles, tugging me in until he can press a kiss to my forehead. "I just— not during a stream, yeah? I mean, maybe mine. But, not someone else's." He presses another kiss as I nod.
"Yessir." I speak, soft, still feeling guilty.
I watch the smile melt Clay's face. "Tease."
I scrunch my brow. "How?"
"Yes sir." He says back. "Got my dick doing jumping jacks."
I roll my eyes. "It's an expression, horndog."
"Yeah? Well, I'm a simp, you say the magic words, and I activate hardened Clay." He says.
I huff, barely holding a cackle. I cannot deal with this man sometimes. "Simp? You know that insinuates that my pussy is mediocre. That's what the m—"
"No." Clay interrupts. "A person doesn't cry over mediocre pussy. I just meant the term colloquially."
I puff my lip out, teasing. "Aw. You cry over my pussy?"
Clay looks briefly hesitant, something serious leaking into his expression. "Well... I mean. Like... you. I guess. I meant you. I cry over you just uh... just in general." He says.
My pout turns real, hands massaging his as he returns the affection by rubbing soothing circles into my thigh. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "You don't need to cry for me. I'm right here. I'm always right here, just waiting for you." I say, genuine.
Clay exhales, squeezing again. "That can be overwhelming, too."
"Wh— how?" I question.
He hesitates for only a moment. "I get— I get overwhelmed, alright." He says, an admission. "I— sometimes I'm scared. And I'm— I'm afraid you'll get bored of me." He pauses, dragging in a breath. "Tired of me— something."
I stare at Clay in disbelief. He thinks I'm going to get tired of him?
He glances at me, then barrels forward. "You're my dreamgirl, alright. I—I, I don't wanna fuck anything up."
I squeeze his hand tighter, burying in his shoulder. "You mean so much more to me than you're giving yourself credit for."
Clay goes quiet, breaths soft and deep. "In what way?" He asks.
Well... time for another truth time.
"I get scared, too." I say.
He eyes me, curious. I press another kiss to his shoulder before barreling forward.
"I get scared at how much it means to be loved the way—" I push forward, poking his chest, "—you love me. The second you opened up with me you became so..." I pause to take a shuddered breath. "Loud? I guess, to admit it, with your words, I mean. You just look at me and you can say it. And like—" I have to stop again, feeling overwhelmed, seeing the concern knitting Clay's face.
I lean in, pressing another kiss to his shoulder, looking up at him through my lashes. "It's like... I know that I feel the same but the words are difficult to choke out. I just don't want—" I pause, collecting my thoughts again. "I fight to admit how much you mean to me, because I feel like the second I do, the second I say some of the things you can say to me with ease, I'm giving you the power to absolutely destroy me—" I take a tense breath. "I mean, I-I guess."
Clay's hand goes delicate, fingers brushing across my thigh as gentle as he can. "I'm not." He says, voice soft, barely audible. "I could never do that to you."
I tilt my head, rubbing my cheek to his shoulder, feeling nerves bloom in my system at the severity of the conversation. Becoming a coward, as I do. I take a breath, steeling myself, hoping I can maintain a grasp on the verbal courage I've had.
"I'm starting to know that. Something in me gets it. I just... the way you trust is admirable. I can't imagine getting hurt the way you've been and still being able to look at me and just—" I look up at his face, trying to lean in as close as I physically can. "You can say 'I love you' like it's nothing."
Clay laughs, but it sounds choked. "It's not... it's not like nothing." He says, rapidly blinking before squeezing me again. "I think I get it though. I feel it too, well, I felt it too." He pauses to worry his lip before turning to stare at me. "I... I had my own moment but, with you, I uh— I know."
I crack into a grin, shaking my head. "There's that weird cryptic shit again. You know?"
Clay drags his tongue along his lip, carefully considering me. He pulls in a shuddered breath right as he speaks. "You're fucking— you're it for me. There's the pull in the back of my head that tells me I'm done. Like completely. This—" He gestures between us. "Is my ending."
I blink at the words, feeling my stomach go tight, then completely retract into my own space. That's— it's— he's said— Clay has been serious before, called me end-game, but the severity with which he said that is— daunting. I watch his face, expecting it to set again, but it stays vulnerable, soft.
"You're it for me." He speaks again, almost whispered. It makes everything in my body go reactive.
"I'm—" I start, freezing up. "I'm really sorry—" I choke out, hating the brief reflection of hurt in Clay's eyes.
"Why?" He asks, small, mumbled.
Shit. Fuck.
"I can't— I don't know if I'll ever—" I hate the hurt I watch flood Clay's face because I'm bad with my words.
I do what I know I can do, and dart both hands forward, planting them anywhere on his body I can reach. I tilt in, until I can press my face to his shoulder, then do.
"I'm sorry it's me. I'm sorry I can't give you same type of reassurance. Because... Christ. What your words do to me... should be illegal. The things you do to me, to my fucking heart, Clay." I say, as articulate as I can manage, then, to lighten the mood: "You make my stummy hurt."
He laughs, turning to cautiously eye me, tension melting from his face. "It's okay. You say it in your own way. I've got you." He mumbles, swinging an arm around me to tug me in flush.
"In my own way?" I question.
Clay turns for a moment, briefly responding to a prompt by the car that's making sure he isn't asleep. "Mhm." He says back, and that's all he says back.
I huff. "Care to elaborate?" I question.
He looks at me again, smile curling his lips. "Our love languages differ a lot. Obviously, I can give words of affirmation, and we share acts of service—"
"You have gift giving, too." I butt in.
I watch Clay's cheeks flood with color, even as he glares. "And I have gift giving. But you..." He goes quiet, soft. "Physical touch."
I roll my eyes. "Oh. You know I care about you because I give pussy on demand." I say, almost disappointed.
Clay laughs. "Are you gonna let me finish speaking?" He asks.
I look at him, see the severity of his expression, and falter. I nod into his shoulder, ducking my head, feeling guilty and small.
"Yes. But no." He continues, then slowly drags his hand up the length of my thigh. "It's much more complex than that." He looks up, meeting my eyes. "We're gonna get to the cabin in about forty-five minutes. I'll take you inside and explain then, yeah?"
I flutter my eyes, nodding into his shoulder. I assume this explanation is going to happen in a bed. Which... is a hell of a lot easier than trying to choke out words right now. Still, it doesn't ease the tension stringing my body. The rest of the drive is almost silent, a few mumbled observations and jokes from each of us here and there, but the weight of the words we spoke hang heavily in the air.
It feels like time is standing the closer we get. The last five minutes of the drive feel like an hour on their own. Maybe it's a good thing we're quiet, though. The roads aren't... great, due to the weather, and I know big man hasn't driven on snow much if ever. He's careful, methodic, handling the vehicle differently, responding to how it slides. It's almost as nerve-wracking as what's going on between us.
I just want to close my eyes. Hide from it. So I do, burying my face in Clay's neck and pretending nothing is happening.
I feel the car lurch to a stop, but don't bother to open my eyes until I feel a kiss press to my forehead.
"We're here, c'mon." Mumbles Clay, and I finally pull out of his neck.
I open my eyes again, taking a moment to readjust to the brightness of the snow. I look around. We're definitely... in the middle of nowhere. Other than trees and snow, there's the building we're staying in. It's woody, quaint.
I'm hesitant to open my door, knowing that for one, we're going to walk in and have a... 'conversation', and for two... it's fucking cold. I have to brace, swinging my door open. A shiver briefly travels across my body, a small yelp in my throat as the air hits. It's even colder than before, which, I didn't expect.
I barely don't scream as I hop out of the car, eager to grab my bag and rush inside, like I can hide from the temperature. Clay laughs, watching me go. I barrel into the cabin without a second to observe and think.
It's... warmer inside. But not as warm as I need it to be. I spot a fireplace and come to a conclusion.
"Oh my God?" I question, poking my head back out the door to look at Clay.
"Are you going to like— fetch firewood and like— do like a lumberjack thing and like—"
He grimaces, locking the car and walking toward me with his own bag and Patches. I watch him approach, rapidly toeing off my shoes, backing up to give him space.
"Why would I do all of that? There's electric heat. It's just turned down." He responds.
My mouth parts, thoughts moving glacially. "It'd— it's— it'd be kinda hot. Kinda Minecrafty too, right? Like collecting wood and..." I taper off, seeing Clay's expression.
"Who do you think I am? I'm— I'm not collecting firewood. We live in the modern age. I'm gonna turn the heat up." He says, dropping his bag and Patches, then wanders away to do just that.
I sneer at his back, lock the door, then drop to a crouch to open up Patches' crate. She peers around for a moment, body low, before she slinks out, cautious, curious.
"Sorry." I mumble to her. "This probably sucks for you right now." I push a hand toward her, letting her nose my fingers before going behind the ears. She seems to relax somewhat.
We both jump as we hear a mechanical thump, but it's quickly explained by the following sound of hot air blowing. I decide to sit all the way down, legs spread, hunched over. Patches huddles close to me in my lap, but doesn't relax, carefully looking around the space.
Clay reappears, kicking his own shoes off right in the middle of the hallway, then lumbers over, flopping to the floor with me and fully laying down. My lap is immediately forfeit by Patches, as she crawls over to him, mashing her face into his neck. I hear soothing mumbles from low in his throat. I know they're for her, but something about it steadies me, as well.
I lift a hand to the back of Clay's head, idly dragging my fingers through his hair, petting him too, nerves from earlier blooming again. He briefly looks up at me and we meet eyes. We stay locked like that, searching each other's faces, finding the intensity from earlier.
"I'm fucking cold." I express with a short laugh, hoping to break it.
Clay just blinks at me, melting into a smile. "You're not getting out of this one." He says, quiet and gentle.
I have to swallow my tongue, freezing up. I wanted to lessen the tension, not compound it. He must notice how tight I'm holding myself, because he finally breaks the eye contact, turning to press a kiss to a much more relaxed looking Patches. She quickly wriggles out of his arms, curious and exploratory, wandering off to scout the cabin.
I find myself staring at the floor, avoiding Clay's eyes, especially now that we don't have a buffer. I startle when one of his hands lifts, landing on my waist, rubbing with his thumb.
"C'mon. I'll warm you up." He mumbles, and I let out a heavy breath.
We have sex... a lot. Christ, we had sex today. But this feels... this feels defining.
I stay frozen as Clay slaps his hands to the floor, pushing back up to standing. He extends a hand in front of my face, an offer. I take it, and he hups, helping me swing to my feet, and then some, tugging me into his chest.
I'm hesitant, but manage to lift my hands to his hoodie, tangling my fingers in the fabric. The silence between us is heavy. I assume he's making an example of me, which is immediately proven.
"You don't need to talk." Clay starts, hand dropping to my lower back, guiding me toward where he must know the bedroom is. "Unless you want to stop me, you don't need to talk." He clarifies.
I take in a sharp breath, nodding. I can do that. That's... easy, I think. We step into our bedroom for the next few days. It's dated but comfortable, a dark comforter spread across the iron-framed bed.
Clay starts to guide me, and I melt into it, pliant with every push and adjustment. He gets me to turn, cupping my lower-back, guiding me to sit on the side of the bed. It creaks, and I realize it might be a little more dated than it seems.
The second I'm sat down, Clay crouches in front of me, wrapping his fingers around my ankle like it's something delicate. I startle once I realize he's pulling off my socks for me. Embarrassed, I try to tug back.
"I—I can—" I start, but he immediately looks up at me, eyes piercing.
"Be quiet, baby." He says.
I listen, falling silent, trying to relax, let him do anything he wants. The second he's done with my socks he stands and does the same to his own. He scoots in close, cupping either side of my face, dragging his thumbs along my cheeks.
We hold, for only a moment, before Clay's stepping back and pulling his hoodie off. His shirt briefly lifts up in the process, exposing his stomach. My eyes drop to it, following the line of hair down, just before his shirt falls back into place. I hear the hoodie hit the floor with a thump, then suddenly his hands are on me again. They play with the fabric of my hoodie, gliding across the hem of the article, before slowly pushing it up.
It's all silence, all breath as I raise my arms, helping him remove the outer layer. It lands on the floor with a similar thump, then a hand, warm and massive, plants on my waist.
Clay is gentle, handling me further up the mattress, guiding me to lay flat on my back. Words burn at the base of my throat, some teasing, some desperate, all stifled. He climbs into the creaking bed with me, and my legs automatically part, making the space he needs to settle between then. He accepts, like it's the only thing he can do, slotting our bodies together.
His fingers play with the hem of my shirt, slipping underneath. The second our skin connects, my breath hitches. He looks up with a proud smile.
"This is what I mean. You can get so tight-lipped baby..." He mumbles, then leans in until we're sharing breath, lips close enough to kiss, but not connecting quite yet.
Clay watches me like a study, then steadies himself, roughly rolling his hips against me, pressing our everything flush. I moan, soft and quiet, unavoidable.
"But your body talks." He says, breathy, right against my lips, interrupting anything I could say by locking our mouths together and pressing in with his tongue.
My eyes flutter shut, head tilting back with a whimper. He's working me. The way only he knows how. I hate that I can't— do anything about it. That... I don't want to do anything about it. He knows how to touch me, move me, he knows—
"I know you love me." Clay mumbles. "You said it yourself. You're like this—" he rolls his hips again, getting a whimpered moan from high in my throat. "—only ever for me."
I nod, swallowing around my nerves, feeling Clay press another feather light kiss to the corner of my lips.
"It's the same thing I feel..." He breathes out, lips dragging down to my jaw so he can mouth there, slowly starting to roll against me in a rhythm. "I don't want anyone like I want you."
I have to lift both of my hands for that, landing them on his shoulders, digging in with my fingers and holding tight. This is— this—
"I just use my words to express it. I love you. Simple as that." Clay mumbles out, then attaches his mouth to my neck, rolling the skin between his teeth.
I moan, desperate, before struggling to find my voice. "I—I, I can— use words t— ah—" I'm interrupted as Clay rolls his hips particularly rough, latching onto my throat and sucking a bruise.
I moan, everything melting as he works my body.
"I said be quiet baby." Clay breathes out, pausing to soothe his love bite with his tongue. "You're interrupting our conversation."
I fall completely silent, swallowing the rest of my words, body rocking underneath of his.
Clay pulls back, lifting just far enough to watch his fingers graze against my skin as he pushes my shirt further up. It's like electric where his skin connects with mine, dull thuds of my heartbeat heavy in my chest.
This is suffocating. The amount I feel for him... is suffocating. My breaths become deeper, heavier, emotions charging the way our bodies connect.
Clay cups my face, dragging his thumb along my lip, before he drops to hold my shoulder, propping me up so he can get my shirt off. The second it's off, he's hooking his fingers into the fabric of my bra, pushing it up, over my breasts, then off. He guides me to lay back down, then retracts into his own space, pulling his shirt off as well.
I arch underneath of Clay almost involuntarily, grinding our bodies together. He melts into a smile.
"You always do this." He says, quiet, and I wonder what he means for only a second before his head dips.
Clay kisses my neck, down my collar, to my chest. I whimper as he reaches my breasts, nipples reactive to just his breath. I arch, pressing my chest toward his mouth. He huffs a laugh.
"You're so mouthy. Without even a single fucking word. You're—" He sighs, cutting himself off, pushing his tongue out, flat, to lap at my nipple.
My legs lift, squeezing him tight, heat blooming across my skin. He's relentless, kissing, biting, bruising everywhere on my breasts, toying with me, listening to me get desperate. Despite what he tells me to do, I have to beg.
"Please—" slips from my mouth, carried on a desperate breath.
Clay laughs against my chest, hands dropping to the waistband of my sweats and tugging them halfway down my thighs. I squirm underneath of him, nervous, body hyper reactive. His head follows the movement down, until he's pressing his lips where the waistband of my underwear rests.
My hips rock as he goes lower, pressing a kiss to my pussy over the thin fabric. There's a small noise in my throat that slips, but he catches it, huffing a laugh.
"You'll let me do any goddamn thing I want, won't you?" He questions, pressing another kiss before dropping his mouth to my thighs.
I whine and nod, holding back my words, body shivering.
"I bet you're cold." Clay says, then he's off the mattress, off me.
I whine, rolling to follow, curling in on myself. Clay works quick, dropping his sweats, then pulling mine all the way off for me. The second they're off he's tugging at the comforter under me, forcing it down. I lift my hips, then legs to help as he pulls it out.
He keeps it held up, just for himself, then crawls in under it with me, pressing our hips together again. With the pants out of the way I can feel everything. The length of his hard cock presses between my legs, grinding my clit through our underwear as our hips roll together.
Clay dips again, retreating under the blanket, kissing down my stomach, getting right back between my legs. I rock, spreading myself open, inviting him.
"Even when I'm nowhere near you..." He starts, and my stomach goes tight, anticipating the words. "Even when you freak out and run..."
Finally, his fingers dip into the waistband of my underwear, pulling them down my legs and off. My legs spread further to accept him as he leans back in. He lays his head on my thigh, pushing forward with his fingers, sliding them through my pussy.
"When you're like this, I know the truth about how you feel." He mumbles, kissing my thigh one more time before two fingers push into my pussy, filling me. "My little fucking whore, dripping wet from a kiss." He speaks, voice teasing.
I have to swallow, fluttering around his fingers, darting a hand down to thread my fingers into his hair and pull.
"This— this is so fucking— embarrassing—" I whimper out, hips briefly lifting as his fingers curl inside of me, pressing everything sensitive.
Clay laughs, pressing a kiss to my hip. "I know. Are you going to tell me to stop?" He questions, knowing damn well I won't.
There's silence, followed by: "That's what I thought. Good girl."
His fingers curl and his head finally shifts, tongue landing to circle around my clit as he fucks his fingers inside of me. I flutter my pussy, small moans reverberating in my throat.
Clay just hums, flicking with his tongue, pressing his fingers as deep as he can. My eyes roll back in my head, breaths already panted, desperate. Before I can surrender to the sensation, it ends. He's sitting up, pushing his boxers down and off to free his cock.
"I'm ready to hear what you have to say." He breathes out, fingers digging into my thigh as he lines himself up.
I open my mouth to speak, to tell him—
Clay claps his hand over my mouth, hips shifting forward to slowly push his cock inside of me. I arch from the stretch, eyes rolling back. He returns with long exhale, gripping my face to keep my mouth covered. I go tight, milking his cock, and he melts into a smile.
"I hear you baby, keep talking." He mumbles, so I go tight again, clenching around his cock.
This smug son of a—
Clay laughs, head rolling on his shoulders, eyes fluttering in ecstasy. "You think I don't hear that?" He asks, then starts to roll his hips teasingly slow. "God, it's so fucking loud— such a perfect fucking hole just for me to fucking— God—"
I barely manage to keep my eyes open, lifting my legs to hook them around his hips, trying my best to think about what he's expressing, realizing he's right. This is my vulnerable, my love letter, my expression of trust.
His hand drops off my face, curling around my neck, holding loosely. It's a warning of what's to come. He's giving me my chance to speak up— tell him no— tell him—
"I care about you so fucking much." I stutter out, shuddering through a moan as Clay's hips snap.
His hand tenses and I gasp, arching toward him.
"I love you too. I'm so fucking proud of you." He mumbles, leaning in to catch my lips. "You make me so—" He presses another kiss. "So proud to call you mine." He breathes out, then finally snaps his hips again, thrusting his cock into me with actual intent.
I moan, wild, head tilting back, oxygen deprivation starting to fade in as Clay's hand goes tighter. I manage to keep my eyes open, meeting his eye contact as he starts to find a rhythm in the way he's fucking me. The quiet of the room fills with the creak of the bed, my moans, and his shuddered breaths.
I clench again, watch his eyes flutter, feeling his hips slow. "Yeah—" he sighs out, squeezing my neck. "You feel so fucking good on my cock, baby."
I'm urged to talk back, but can't find the wherewithal, not after earlier. I search his face, holding eye-contact as our bodies collide. It dawns on me, what he means when he says 'I know' or 'I'm done'. I'm starting to feel it too.
I know what I want.
"Hey, daddy—" I breathe out, soft, careful, feeling the way his hips falter in their movement, hand going looser around my neck. I love the way it makes him melt.
I lift my arms, making grabby hands. Clay eases back into a smile, face relaxed, then adjusts his hips so he can come down on me, the full length of our bodies pressing flush. Our mouths meet, soft, slow, barely dragging against each other, tongues brushing with no insistence.
I sigh into the kiss, pulling back just enough to speak, right into his ear.
"Fuck me slower." I request, soft.
Clay's hips go glacial. Each of his thrusts drags the full length of his cock out of me before he slowly pushes it back in. It's not enough for either of us to cum for a long time.
It's perfect.
He keeps pressed into my neck, relaxing there, mouthing at my skin, leisurely rolling his hips. This isn't about sex. This is about us, about the heat generating between our bodies, about how perfectly we fit together in this creaky ass bed, about how much we need each other.
I shudder through a sigh, moans drawn out every time the head of Clay's cock drags against the most sensitive parts of me. He shudders right back, moans of his own low and soft as our bodies roll together.
It's weird to feel everything, to be so... present. The way the ridge of his cock's head catches at my entrance, just slightly stretching me further. The way everything between my legs is dripping wet, just to take his cock better.
Pleasure melts my brain, my body, my conscious, the collision of our bodies an inevitable. I keep fluttering, moaning every time Clay's lips connect to me with a kiss. His mouth stays demanding against my neck, nipping at the skin, tongue soothing every new bite and bruise.
"I get it." I breathe out, pleasure spiking in my abdomen.
Clay gets excited, his hips involuntarily speeding up, pushing his cock deeper inside of me, faster.
"Get what baby?" He asks into my neck.
I lift my hands, petting his hair.
"When you say you know. I get it. I know too." I reply.
He makes a pleased noise, hips snapping hard enough we jerk up the mattress, folding my body up.
My legs tighten, wrapping around his lower back particularly hard. It might be time to chase the pleasure, start fucking to finish instead of relax. I soothe my hands down his neck, to his shoulders, then grip.
"You can make me cum now." I breathe out, quiet, turning to press a kiss to his cheekbone.
Clay nods into my neck, hips adjusting to just slightly tilt me, then his head lifts. He stares for just a moment, supporting himself on his elbows. We breathe, then he's rolling his hips. I arch, head tilting back, moan wobbled in my throat.
"Ah, I really love that." He says, melting into a smile, snapping his hips again to the same reaction.
This time, he catches my mouth as I moan. The second our lips meet, his hips find their rhythm, cock dragging in and out of me to set a rough pace. He swallows all of my moans, dragging our lips together for a surprisingly desperate kiss.
The way our bodies connect is communicative.
I moan into Clay's mouth, eyes constantly rolling back, legs squeezing his waist. This is isn't going to be long. Not when it's him. Not when he's fucking me like this.
I flutter my eyes. "You feel so fucking good, daddy." I sigh. "So good."
Clay moans, locking our lips into another kiss, hips moving faster, harder, connecting with my body hard enough I bounce against him, dragging along the sheets. I have to grit my teeth, body slowly pulling tighter and tighter as I barrel toward my orgasm.
"I'm— close—" I whimper out, feeling the heat branch from low in my abdomen.
I feel his cock throb inside of me as I tighten up, and briefly hope it'll be enough to make him feel good. I have to dig in with my nails, breaths pathetic, exhales whimpered, feeling myself get stretched open, split on his cock.
"Go ahead, baby. Cum when you want." Clay mumbles out.
I nod, whining and holding tighter with my hands. My body listens, pleasure overwhelming me. I arch as I orgasm, entire body shaking with the effort.
Clay shushes me as my moans go high, whiny, my legs pulling tight enough to hurt as he continues to pound into me.
"You want my cum?" He asks, voice teasing.
I nod, still cum-lax, legs shifting into a tremble as my body starts to overstimulate.
"C'mon." I mumble back. "Give it to me." My voice is quiet, relaxed, body throbbing while split open on his cock.
Clay huffs a laugh. "You're telling me to— ah— to cum. And your tight fucking— God—" I go tighter, just to antagonize. It must work, because he falters, body folding, face dipping to press into my neck.
"Tight little slut—" He says into my neck, voice desperate.
My eyes roll back into my head, hips twitching as he continues to fuck my cum-soft body into the mattress.
"You feel— you feel so—" I mumble out, dragging my hands back up to hook into his hair as he presses kisses to my neck.
"I know baby, I know. Your body is— it told me already." He says, quiet, then snaps his hips.
"Feels fuckin' good, doesn't it?" He asks, cocky.
I hate that I nod, whimpering, wondering if I might just cum again. Clay just hums, burying in my neck, nipping at the skin.
"You feel good too." He sighs out. "Such a good— such a good girl." I can hear it in his voice, and in the way his hips begin to falter. He's close.
"Clay c'mon—" I moan out, gripping tight.
"Yeah—" he breathes out, and I feel his upper body start to pull tight.
One of his hands fumbles, jerking my arm and pinning it to the mattress. He gropes down the length until he lands on my hand, then grips, tight.
"I'm gonna— I'm gonna cum baby. Just— just keep it— keep it tight." He sighs out, hips snapping harder in more jagged, pointed thrusts.
I moan, gripping his hand back. I can do him one better. I drag my other hand up his back, neck, and into his hair, briefly tugging, before dropping my hand off of him. I slip it between us, heading between my legs.
Clay watches it, huffing a small laugh.
"Yeah? Gonna fucking cum for me again?" He asks, grinning down at me as I land where I want.
My hips immediately buck, forcing his cock to angle, fingers stuttering against my clit. We release matching moans. My eyes flutter, then shut. I know my mouth is just open at this point, constantly releasing a stream of moans.
I feel Clay press his mouth back to my neck, squeezing my hand tight, and the pressure starts to build. I angle my fingers perfect, playing with myself just right, entire body arching into the sensation. It doesn't take much before my legs are shaking, rest of my body pulled tense as I crest over.
I ease into a guttural moan as I cum again, everything going tight. Swears drip from Clay's mouth, the movement of his hips faltering.
"Holy fuck baby— c'mon—" He whimpers, gripping my hand, dropping his chin to my forehead.
His thrusts are intentional, rough.
"Cum for me, please." I moan out, clenching one more time.
Clay whines, pressing as close to me as he can, throbbing where he's buried inside of me. His hips snap one more time, before he stills, and his cock jerks, a flood of warmth filling my abdomen. He shudders, noises high and needy as he rolls his hips again.
I laugh, bright and happy, lifting my free hand to hook into his hair and pull.
"Feels so fucking good— you feel so fucking good." I mumble out, tilting my head back to kiss at his jaw.
Clay immediately shifts into it, pressing our lips, then pressing into my mouth with his tongue, shaking in my arms from the aftershocks of his orgasm.
He starts to melt in my hands, whimpering into my mouth, pulling out of the kiss only to whisper praise before pressing right back in.
Clay pulls back after a moment, searching my face with half-lidded eyes. I smile up at him, clenching on his spent cock just to watch the the way his face goes lax for just a moment. He grins back.
"I love you, y'know? I just really do." He says, soft.
I nod, then lift, pressing a kiss to his chin. He huffs a small laugh, finally releasing my hand to cup my face, dragging his thumb along my cheek.
"I'm gonna get a towel, baby. Don't wanna mess up the sheets we're sleeping on for the next couple days." He mumbles, then lifts to his knees. carefully slipping out of me as I dart a hand down.
I push my fingers into myself, holding the cum inside. Clay watches it, looking incredibly smug, before rocking to his feet and lazily walking back out toward, I assume, the bathroom. I watch his ass as he goes.
He returns after a moment, holding a washcloth. He lands a hand on my thigh, sliding it up, then positions the washcloth. Cum drools out of me as I retract my fingers, but he's quick to catch it, wiping me down.
"Thanks." I murmur, pushing my hand down to wipe my fingers off as well.
Clay hums, folding down to press a kiss to my knee, his other hand landing on my stomach, rubbing soothing circles. It seems like a weird moment to feel tender... but it does. I search his expression, seeing the pure admiration and care for me plastered across his face as he cleans me.
"D'you get what I mean, now?" He asks.
I startle, looking at him. "What?" I question.
"When I said your love language was physical touch. You get it, right?"
I roll my eyes. "Clay." I huff. "You know damn well I got it somewhere between getting fingered and folded in half."
He grins. "Yeah. I just want to hear you say it."
I flip him off, slapping him away. Clay raises his hands in surrender, disappearing again before returning without the cum-rag. He dips, snagging his boxers and putting them on. He has to look for a moment, but finds his shirt, then kneels on the mattress. He man-handles me into the shirt. I stay lax the entire time, letting him take care of me.
As soon as he's done, he comes down, laying his head on my chest. Usually we take a goofier mood after sex, but something still feels... sappy about this. About the closeness, the touch. I lift both hands to pet his hair, relaxing, feeling my heart thud in my chest.
He definitely warmed me up.