Edge.

I begged him to make me come, and I don't know why, because when he did it would be over. As long as we stayed like this, bodies entangled from toes to hair, his fingers buried in me and just barely moving, it could last forever. My whole life in a bed, bent back onto my elbows and the balls of my feet, hips circling endlessly, tasting his sweat and mine. I could feel his cock hard against my thigh, his lips on mine not kissing but just breathing into me, and his fingers, oh God his fingers.

And the only thing I could say to him was that he should make it stop?

He wasn't listening anyway. He knew what he was doing. When I went faster he went slower, riding out the bucking of my hips, giving me not an inch more or less no matter how I thrust myself down on him. He pinched my nipples, bit my neck, but not quite enough. I was half a second away for minutes on end.

Finally I begged for his whole hand, and he gave it to me, not gently. When his thumb just started to slip inside it was finally enough, finally too much, and when he could no longer hold me off he didn't hold back. He fucked me with his hand and it hurt and I was coming and it was so fucking much, so fucking good.

I was in a daze afterward, laughing, kissing him over and over, curled fetal, babbling like an idiot, laughing at myself again.





And all told it still didn't take twenty freakin' minutes, sheesh.