Page 8 of Slut Shamed


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I don’t know how many times he’s called my name, but he’s wearing an amused grin when I open my eyes and look at him. His cock is wrapped in a condom and ready to go as he grunts, “Say yes, Samantha.”

“Yes, fuck yes.” I scoot up the bed, and he follows, sitting on his knees. He grabs my legs, wrapping them around his waist and sinks into me in one smooth motion. Three orgasms in a night is usually beyond me, but I know the second I feel him inside me, that I can get there again.

He leans over me, licking and sucking each nipple as I revel in the sensation of his long, deep strokes. If he’s maintained control until now, all semblance of it disappears as he puts my feet on his shoulders and starts to pound into me.

Sweat coats us both and the slap of our bodies competes with the groans and cries that echo through the room. He adjusts his angle the tiniest bit, and I’m gone, my hands gripping the sheets as my entire body lights up and burns in the best way. I’m mesmerized by his expression, the way his mouth falls open, his brow furrowing, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s in pain as he comes.

A few seconds pass, and he lets my legs down and bends over to press a kiss to my lips. It’s unbearably soft and sweet compared to what we’ve just experienced, as is the way he rests his forehead against my breast, catching his breath.

He looks up and grins at me. “Trash can?”

“Beside the night stand.” I gesture to the right, and he climbs off of me, disposing of the condom.

I’m a little surprised when he flips off the light and climbs back in bed instead of getting dressed. He wraps an arm around my middle and pulls me back against him.

Huh. I guess we’re spooning.

I guess he’s staying.

The alcohol and multiple orgasms catch up with me, and my eyes fall shut.

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