Before meeting Ash, you didn’t believe people when they mentioned a ‘second round’. You scoffed when it said ‘for hours’ in a stupid love song. And rolled your eyes when a guy said that ‘Her legs were shaking after’. Like what the fuck ? There was no way in hell.

But that was before you met Ash.

You didn’t know why though. Maybe it was just because he was good at it ? Maybe because he looked too damn good ? Maybe the way he looked at you and talked to you through it ? Maybe the way he never neglected foreplay and aftercare ?

You still wondered how that was possible.

The room still smelled like sex, sweat and his cologne. There were probably unborn kids on the sheets around you guys. Yet you couldn’t care less before falling asleep in each other’s arms. Your back hurt from how many times you arched it, like it was gonna make you escape how good it felt. Your thighs probably had marks of his mouth and handprints, from how hard he sucked on some spots, and how tight he held them. Your hips still felt warm from how hard he gripped it when you moaned louder.

You were still asleep. Ash, wasn’t. His bare chest was pressed against your back, as you were dressed in bra and panties and he was dressed in shorts. Your backside was pressed against his hips. Wrong move. He just woke up and his boxers already felt too damn tight. He could still taste you on his lips. He could still hear the sounds you made when he asked if it felt better in the new position, praising you when you replied with a moan. He could still feel how you scratched his back and biceps when it was just too much to handle. He remembered how you crashed his lips down on yours when he was going faster. Deeper.

He could initiate another round. But his limbs were cursing at him. Everything felt sore. Same for you, if not worse.

He let his hand caress your arm, stomach, hip, thigh. Not in a sexual way, not in a needy one. Just because he couldn’t hold back. You were a drug he was addicted to.

He pulled you even closer, his length bulging uselessly against your backside. He knew he would have to take care of it alone, later. He moved your hair away from the back of your neck, his fingers playing with yours on the pillow, above your head. He softly kissed your neck in a slow and gentle way. It was different from yesterday, as if he was trying to make up from how wrecked you were, because of him. Not that he was sorry though. He was proud. And let’s be real, he thought you deserved it.

“Mornin’ angel…” he muttered against your neck, his voice firm as usual, and hoarse from the previous night.