We Both Paid the Same Stranger to Sublet the Same One-Bedroom, and Neither of Us Would Move Out novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: Three Rounds

By midnight the dresser was back against the door, the quilt was damp in a heap by the radiator.

I was sitting on the edge of the bare mattress in his lap.

He sat with his legs over the side and his hands flat on my back.

I faced him, straddling his thighs, bare skin against bare skin, and for once neither of us was in a hurry.

"First round," he said.

"There's a round?"

"Three. I made a plan."

"You're an electrician. Of course you made a plan."

"It has a diagram."

I laughed against his shoulder.

He pulled me closer and kissed me, and it was nothing like the laundry room.

It was slow, deep and thorough, his tongue sliding over mine.

I could feel him hard against my stomach, and I rocked on him once, teasing, and he sighed.

"Slow," he said into my mouth. "Round one is slow."

"How slow?"

"So slow you beg."

"I don't beg."

"We'll see."

He lifted me by the hips, and I reached down and took him in my hand and guided him to my entrance.

I sank down on him, by a single inch.

He held still.

I took another inch.

My thighs shook.

He watched my face, his blue eyes steady, his mouth open, and let me take all of him at my own pace.

When I was seated on his lap with him buried inside me, we both stopped breathing for a second.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"Hi," I said again, and my voice shook.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and he wrapped his around my waist and we rocked.

There was no thrusting, just a tiny roll of my hips against his, a grind so slow the bed didn't make a sound.

Every motion pulled and pressed at the same spot, and the heat built under my skin.

His forehead rested against mine.

His lips brushed my lips and left again.

"Do you know how pretty you are when you're quiet?" he said.

"I'm never quiet."

"You've been quiet for two minutes. You've got that look."

"What look?"

"Like nobody's ever been this gentle with you."

I swallowed.

He was right, and I hadn't known it until he said it.

"Keep going," I whispered. "Please. Don't stop."

"Beg me."

"Randy."

"Go on."

"Please," I said. "Please, I need more."

He smiled.

He lifted my hips an inch, slid me down slowly, lifted and slid, until I was shaking in his arms and gasping into his neck.

"I'm going to come," I said.

"Not yet."

"You said I could beg."

"You did. That's two begs. Now come."

I came with a long, low cry, my fingers digging into his back, my body clenching around him in great slow waves.

He held me through every one.

"One," he said, kissing my hair.

"You're keeping score."

"I'm keeping a diagram."

At two in the morning I woke from a doze.

His hand was cupped over my breast and his mouth was on the back of my neck.

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