“Sometimes I want you to fuck me like I’m not really here.”
I open my eyes and shift across the mattress till her back, stippled with summer evening sweat, meets my bare chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Not always,” she whispers, and pauses. I can hear her picking over the words in her mind, carefully selecting the right ones. “But it would be nice every now and then to feel like I’m not inside my own body when you are. Does that make sense? Like you’re just using my flesh while I float somewhere high above and watch.”
“Using your flesh,” I echo back at her, and ease aside the curtain of hair covering the back of her neck, so I can kiss it. “Is that sexy?”
“I dunno,” she says. “I mean I think so. You tell me.”
Then she reaches up and turns off the bedside light.
Daylight is leaking through the blind when I wake up the next morning, but a quick glance at my phone tells me that the alarm won’t go off for another 20 minutes. Always the way when you’re teetering on the edge of a hangover: late enough that it’s not worth going back to sleep, early enough to make the next few hours feel just that bit more unpleasant.
I think about getting up to piss, but I don’t need it that badly, and besides, my dick is painfully hard. I risk a sip of water instead – if I’m going to stay in bed, I don’t want to do it with a dry mouth – and roll over to press my erection against her warm, bare arse. She shuffles back into me with a sleepy sigh. I can see her face reflected in her phone screen, which is held in place next to the bed by a plastic clip on the end of a long, disembodied arm. It’s peaceful; her mouth is open, and for a brief moment her eyes are too, flicking up to stare into mine before slowly closing again.
It’s already warm, even at not-quite-7am. There’s sweat on the back of my neck, and I know before my hand finds her tits that they’ll be slick with it too. I let it drift across her body; over her soft, fuzzy tummy, my fingers light so they don’t tickle her, and between her legs, pulling one of them toward me till it falls against mine. Our top halves are still spooning, but she’s twisted round in a way that makes it easy to cup her pubic mound.
Her cunt is not slick. It’s cool and dry, and I run the tip of my index finger all the way along her labia, forming idle laps that go from her clit to her perineum and back again.
Is this sexy, I ask myself again. Her smooth flesh in its liminal state; not quite asleep, not yet awake. I squeeze my other arm under her neck to rest against her upper torso. She reaches blindly and pulls it around her, wriggling a little and drawing her knees back up. In doing so, she shifts my hand away from her cunt, but grinds a little into my erection, and I feel it twitch; an alert, early morning signal that it definitely wants attention.
I summon enough moisture from around my mouth to wet the inside of my fingers, then smear it over the head of my cock. I fist the shaft just below it, and guide the tip against her cunt, the makeshift lube helping it to nudge into the crease between her labia. I lick my fingers again, and this time rub them either side of my cock, till her whole vulva feels more malleable; like it’s slowly coming apart under my touch.
Flesh. Yeah. That’s what it is right now. And yeah, actually this is sexy. Her grip on my arm loosens and her chin tilts up into her pillow, away from everything going on beneath the duvet. The two parts of her exist in different worlds right now. I pull aside the sweep of damp, soft hair at the back of her neck and kiss the skin beneath. Her lips curl into a smile; an involuntary response that feels so familiar I nearly lose the entire thread of what I’m doing.
I pull back and focus again on working my cock along and inside her cunt, a millimetre at a time. My saliva has been supplanted by a growing wetness that pulls, almost sucks me in. I put a hand on her hip and push harder, just once, then grunt as the whole head slips in. I pause for just a second or two, listening to the silence around our bed, broken at this time of morning only by her steady breathing and the occasional hum of a car or train passing by.
She doesn’t move when I draw my own legs up and drive into her with the rest of my cock. A barely-audible moan, muffled by the pillow, is the only response her body offers. I peer over her shoulder and see her fingers curled into the bedsheet, but they give nothing away. My cock, on the other hand, is too restless, too eager for that kind of wary stillness. I pull her hard against me, her back sucking audibly onto my sweaty chest and my cock pumping hard and deep.
Everything starts to blur. My head is hot and prickly, my thighs tense, and suddenly the only thing that matters is her tight cunt around my cock. I channel all my energy, all my consciousness into this pulsing core of the woman I love, alive and awake while the rest of her drifts somewhere around me. I’m so fucking horny for this, for her, and I feel no obligation to hold back or do anything but pour a bit more of myself into every stroke.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” I whisper against her neck after I’ve come. “That was so good.”
“Mm-hmph.” She lets my cock fall out of her and settles her arse in my lap, then pulls the duvet a little higher over both of us. “It really was.”