“I’m coming.” Easton rammed into me with short rapid strokes, jack-hammer fast. Aaron’s hands closing on my breasts, squeezing them, and my own orgasm chased Easton’s down.
“Don’t stop!” I cried wildly, feeling his release and desperate for my own. “Don’t stop!”
He didn’t, and my hand and mouth fell away from his shaft as I flopped back against the bed, my body binding and tightening into one exquisite ball of pleasure.
“Elle….” Easton warned, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because I was rolling, my body flexing underneath his cock, the spasms of pleasure so pure, so intense, that it felt like a drug. A painful, beautiful, piercingly exquisite drug.
When it finally stopped, I went limp and Aaron’s hands softened, then released. Easton stayed inside of me, but rolled forward, bringing me onto his body, and laying me across his chest. His leg wrapped protectively around me, and I heard the soft sound of the door opening, then closing as Aaron left.
“Wow,” Easton said quietly, his heart thudding beneath me.
“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and sagged against his chest, my body cooling as our heartbeats gradually slowed to normal.
Thirty minutes later, my heartbeat had recovered, Aaron’s side of the house was quiet, and my fears of an awkward post-threesome fight had dissolved. I’d expected repercussions. Guilt. Regret. Instead, I felt even closer to Easton. It reminded me of those weeks after Wakulla Springs, when I was so emotionally fragile, and he was so protective, and our dynamic shuddered into a new sort of form where we clung to each other and blocked out everything and everyone in order to heal over something we hadn’t even known we had.
That intimacy had been born out of pain—this one out of pleasure. I watched as Easton flipped off the bathroom light. His hair was wet, a towel hanging around his neck. He was shirtless, plaid pajama pants low on his hips. He rubbed the towel over his head, then hung it on the hook by the bathroom door.
We’d showered together after the event, his rough hands suddenly soft, his touch tender as he’d run a soapy washcloth over my body. He’d kissed me under the spray, then turned off the water and dried me off before the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror, devouring the view. My skin had been pink from the hot water, alive from his touch, still tingling from what had just happened.
I scooted over to make room for him on the bed and reached for the glass of forgotten champagne. “The next time we have a threesome,” I swallowed the last swig, then put the empty glass on the bedside table. “Let’s make sure the guy doesn’t live with us. Because I really want to stretch out on the couch with you right now, but feel like that might be a little awkward.”
Easton chuckled, then sat on the bed beside me. “Yeah, the couch does sound really good right now.”
“Potentially awkward,” he agreed. He pulled the blanket higher atop me. “How about I make us a fort, instead?”
“Yeah. I’m actually really good at it. Not to brag or anything but in fourth grade, some people called me a king.”
“A fort king?”
“It was a high honor at Presley Elementary.”
“Fine.” I rested my head back on the pillow. “Wow me with your fort skills. I give you…” I glanced at the bedside clock. “Five minutes to impress me.”
“Damn, a time limit.” He rolled off the bed and stood. “Way to make it challenging.”
“Take longer than that and I’ll be asleep.” I yawned.
Six and a half minutes later, I was in a curtained box of mismatched sheets, the fabric draped over the headrest, tucked in a dresser drawer and bungee-cord tied to a dining room chair. A flashlight was cupped between us, extra blankets and pillows added to the bed, and the effect was innocent and sweet. Which was funny, considering everything that had happened in this room tonight.
“What do you think?” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and pulled me tighter against his chest. I sank into his hold, my eyes closing as I inhaled the scent of him. He smelled like me, like sex and cum and champagne. But also, like home. Comfort. Strength.
“I think it’s the best fort I’ve ever seen in my life. You definitely win fort king, despite going over the time.”
“Will you be my fort queen?”
I smiled against his chest. “Is that a proposal?”
“It is. And look.” He brought something out from underneath the blanket. “I even have a ring.”
I laughed at the paperclip, bent into a circle, with a crooked mass of metal at the top. “Wow. Where did this come from?”
“To be honest, it’s the only reason I missed my deadline,” he said soberly. “It took almost two minutes to make. But I couldn’t risk another proposal without a ring.”