Strike (9 page)

She suddenly realized she had gone about everything the wrong way. You made men come first when you wanted them to last longer. He’d already taken longer than she’d thought she could stand and now it was going to take even more time. Part of her was distressed, but there was another part of her. A part that wanted to push the envelope and just see how many orgasms he could give her. Did the one she had in the kitchen count as the first?

She noticed that Collin was doing something and turned around to see. His hands were sliding over his cock and the image of it had her cunt clenching down. She was ready again and it took just a flash of that image to make it so. That was when she realized he had just been putting on the condom. Well, at least he was ready too.

She was trying to anticipate which way she should turn to make room for him on the bed. Did he want her on top? Should she just spread her legs and accept him?

He ran his hand gently up her leg. She watched as he slowly lowered himself next to her. She was still wondering which way she should go when he just settled in alongside her. She had to admit that she didn’t mind having a little longer to catch her breath before they started another round.

He nudged her hip, guiding her up onto her side, then snuggled up against her back. He was spooning her from behind and locked her in place with his arms. It gave her a flashback to the walk home from the bar and the first time she’d felt the need to be as close to him as she could get. It was a feeling that didn’t change, no matter how many times she was with him. She melted into the heat of him. With a deep breath, she relished the feeling of just being with him. Both of them had been sated, so there was no reason to rush into the anything more. This was a moment she wanted to remember for all time.

She could feel his hard shaft pressing between her legs. He was shifting his hips, nestling it against her labia. She moved slightly, just enough to draw him even closer. Still, she wasn’t expecting it when he was suddenly inside her.

He moaned, but she felt it more than heard it, since his cheek was resting on her ear. Neither of them was really moving, yet his penis still managed find its way all the way inside her, then retreat again. She whimpered.

This didn’t feel anything at all like fucking him at his place. This was more intimate than she’d ever experienced, even with the one guy she thought she had been in love with. She was getting overwhelmed and it wasn’t just the physical sensation of his cock penetrating her.

She didn’t think the emotion was only coming from her. He was gripping her as if he wasn’t ever going to let her go. While his hand was over her breast, it wasn’t caressing. The other hand was over her stomach. They both had her locked in place, as close to him as physically possible.

The emotions, sensations and heat built up like an incoming tide. Her sanity and her resistance to admitting that she was in love with him were slowly being washed away. The orgasm started small, with little shivers, like small quakes at random all over her body. He responded by rubbing his hands over the affected areas. She wondered if he knew how sensitive her skin had become. Everywhere he touched erupted in fire.

The shivers turned into spasms until her entire body was affected. The waves were rising up and swamping over her. She gasped for breath, feeling as if she were drowning in the sensations. She clutched at his side, clinging to him as she would a life preserver.

All movement stopped as she tried to get control of herself. He had stopped too. Thankfully, he was giving her a chance to regain her composure before he drove her into another orgasm. The cycle continued that way. The pressure built until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Then her body erupted. When she was once again consumed by the raging fire of an orgasm, he stopped until her breathing rate was once again at a normal level.

Eventually she was so sensitive that any movement had her erupting in an instant orgasm. Her face was buried into the pillow, muffling the screams so that the neighbor did not barge in assuming something was wrong. Her hand, which had been clutching at his side, was now pushing him away, even though her body was struggling to get closer to him.

Finally he pushed deep inside her, only this time he didn’t pull back out. His body was rigid, locked in place while he muffled his own sounds in her hair. He was still holding her tight, only this time they were both working to get their breathing back under control.

She knew she was drifting off to sleep and just wanted to give in to it. Then she was suddenly cold and had to roll over to see that he was no longer in the bed. He was over at the trashcan, disposing of the soiled condom. He had a huge smile and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“You know, I’ve seen you three days and we’ve ended up in bed every time,” he said.

“Isn’t that a turkey?” she asked.

He looked as if he was thinking about it, with the most adorable pucker of his lips. Finally he nodded in agreement.

“Well, where’s the turkey dance?” she said.

He gave her a look as if she really didn’t really know what she was asking for. She just folded her arms over her chest and tapped her fingers. He must have realized she was waiting, because he started movements that did indeed look like the end zone dance she had seen on television.

His hands were tucked into his armpits, with his elbows protruding to the sides. His knees were bent in a walk that could only be described as awkward. He moved in a circle around the room.

It was one of the most embarrassing things she had ever watched. She suddenly understood why he had been reluctant to talk about it. It was downright humiliating, but it was something she could live with…as long as he only did it at bowling alleys. With a laugh, she held out her hand to him. That was all the encouragement he needed to curl back up at her side.

About Sheryl Zaines

Lying out on the beaches of Northern California is Sheryl Zaines’ favorite place to write. The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore give rhythm to her words, while her dog is busy slashing in the surf. She’s only pulled back into the confines of her house when it is completely unavoidable. To her, life is something to be lived every moment of every day and each new adventure is a story to be told. The only obstacle she faces is finding time to write them all down.

Sheryl welcomes comments from readers. You can find her email address on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
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