The bed was a mess. I was a mess. He was a mess. We both were a beautiful mess, and we both loved the way we destroyed each other to create this mess.
“I'm glad that you weren't gentle this time,” I murmured, nestling my head on his racing, bare, hot, and muscular chest.
“This time?” he questioned, a furrow of confusion marking his features, his breath still echoing the intensity of our recent encounter.
“Ye–yeah, this time,” I stammered, noticing the enigmatic tension in his expression that sent a thrilling shiver down my spine. “We did it yesterday, didn't we?” Anticipating his response, I swiftly interrupted him and added, “Well, I remember giving you a BJ.” The reason I inserted this statement was my fervent desire to hear that I hadn't coerced him into it and that he had genuinely
