Page 113 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

ripples tapping between us.

His gaze falls to my mouth,

my neck,

my breasts.

My hand’s wrapped tight around the base of his cock, stroking all the way up, tugging at the tip, thumb dragging across the velvet head.

He jolts under me. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, deep and guttural, hips chasing. His head drops back again, eyes black when they find mine, every vein in his arm bulging under my grip.

Water beads down his tight neck,

throat straining.

“I wanna kiss you fuckin’ stupid,” he murmurs, staring at my split lip, “but that poor mouth…” He lifts his head, eyes hooded and wet from the steam, and he rests his mouth against my cheek, right by the corner of my busted lip. His lips brush, soft and strained as if not kissing me hurts.

And I keep grinding down his shaft.

A little filthy. A little faster.

A grunt chokes in his throat.

His cock kicks against my palm,

his pre-cum like silk under my thumb.

His biceps harden every time he tries to move. His stomach pulls tight, abs flexing against my knuckles.

“Fuck—” his face crumbles.

“You touch me so fuckin’ good.

“Like you⁠—”

He moans, eyes squeezed closed.

“You fuckin’—

“You do me so right it’s scary.”

His head tips back, voice breaking.

“Oh my God...”

My head follows,

until we're forehead to forehead,

my chest crushing up against his,

heat slick between us,

our lungs rising together,

falling together,

like we’re plugged into each other.