The warm, ambient light in my hotel room casts a glow across your features. You’re fucking beautiful, and to have you tangled in the sheets with me has me feeling like a very lucky man. My hands find your waist, lifting you to straddle my lap. The skin-on-skin contact of our naked bodies is pure bliss.

“Wanna be on top?” I ask, looking up at you, my eyes dark and half lidded. “Y—yeah.” You reply, your tone laced with desire. You lift yourself, hovering just above me. “Ready?” I ask, knowing you want this just as much as I do, but I always want your verbal consent. “Mhmm,” you hum. “M’ready.”

I guide you so you sink down onto me, causing me to suck in a sharp breath. Your tightness, warmth and familiarity washes over me like a drug I can’t get enough of. You and I are friends with benefits, we met at Niall’s house party a few months back. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you from the moment I saw you.

Your hips moved slow. Deliberate — like the beat of the music was made just for you. One thing led to another and we both ended up back at my place. The sex was fucking incredible. A perfect mix of rough and passionate. Since that night you’ve ended up under me more times than I can count.

It’s easy between us. No strings attached. No label. No expectations.

My breathing labours, sweat beads across my forehead and my thrusts which are meeting your bounces becomes sloppy. The familiar heat pools in my stomach while my legs becoming shaky beneath you.

“I—I’m so close.” I breath out, my tone hoarse and full of pleasure. Your nails dig into my shoulders, throwing your head back. A loud noise, somewhere between a moan or a whine, escapes your lips, cutting through the air sharp and sudden. Nothing like the quiet, broken whimpers I’m used to hearing from you. My brows furrow, watching as your face twists in pleasure that doesn’t reach your eyes. Something feels off. The way your body tenses is too deliberate, too forced, like you’re acting out a scene rather than feeling it.

A strong wave of pleasure washes over me, burning through my veins and snapping me out of my thoughts. A guttural groan comes from my throat, my hips still as I spill into you from underneath you. My hands move to your hips, lifting you off of me, breathing heavily as my head falls back against the pillow.

I take a minute to compose myself, riding out the intense pleasure. My gaze turns towards you, I notice the difference between now and other times we’ve hooked up. You don’t look wrecked, the expression on your face doesn’t look like you’ve just came down from a high. You faked it. Great, I’m here thinking I’m making you feel incredible and you’re just putting on a show.

“You didn’t finish… did you?” I ask, breathless from what we just did, a hint of frustration laced in my tone.