No joke.

All of spacetime had become molasses. Each miniscule adjustment was happening within an instant, yet simultaneously unfolding over minutes, or so it seemed. We were slow not because we were tired. Not even because ‘need to savor it might not have this tomorrow’. Of course we’d have this tomorrow... We were slow because there was no rush.

As if we possessed all the time in the world.

Wakuu let out a muffled moan that traveled right into my mouth as we continued kissing, and my leg rose and hooked over his thighs in response to the sound, pulling him closer and tighter against me. Our legs intertwined, and I wound my arms around him — one under his neck, one draping his waist. He arched into me, deeper into my embrace, deeper into the kiss. His arms moved to hold me, too, his slim fingers trailing over my back and counting my vertebrae all the way down to my tailbone, then back up to my neck. Braided together, we shifted again, and all of me pressed against the entirety of him, ankle to shoulder. As close as we could.

The void swirled and spun around us. In the blind darkness, every sensation was amplified, every other available sense working overtime. In the blind darkness, it was easy to forget, to stop thinking, to let our instincts drive the motions, to let the motions speak for the longing. To let them translate what neither of us had the confidence and skill to vocalize openly; not yet, not without accompanying every step with stupid puns and the like.

My mind wasn’t even trying to focus on anything but the process which kind of merged for a few seconds, or maybe minutes: the heat of his body, the feel of his skin, soft as petals, scalding hot, and a little damp, the sweetest sounds he was making, his scent, his taste, the way he held me to him, the way his leg was pressing between mine, the way his tongue moved against my tongue, how his heartbeat pounded in his chest and spilled into mine, how his cock was hardening against my pelvis, and even the desperate way he scrambled to not break the kiss completely as we remembered about needing oxygen — technically, all of these, and more, were separate entities, and I registered them as such, but they were also coalescing into a singularity.

All the while, Wakuu was slowly, sloooowly overpowering the angle of the kiss, while just as slowly rolling me over to my back, leaning his weight into me bit by bit, and I was yielding, letting him lead, with zero resistance and zero thought put into this particular dance, as effortless as if my body was cooperating of its own volition, for once aiding in its own surrender independent of the brain.

All the while, he was rocking his hips, rubbing his erection against my lower belly, the friction making him groan into my mouth, and the sound was shooting straight down and echoing between my legs repeatedly, in pulses.

All the while, I couldn’t help but mirror him, rolling my hips to meet his movements.

All the while, my hands were roaming over his shoulders and down his back, and up and down again, registering the lean muscles and sinew shift and flex underneath, playing with his hair just a bit at the apex of each ascent.

And all of these were also parts of the Process. And I was getting lost in it.

I’d had no idea that making out could feel like this. And I’d never ever felt like this before. No joke.

With his breathing erratic and shallow, Wakuu finally came up for air — and on top — but his mouth didn’t leave me; it moved to the skin below my jaw, his tongue painting a wet line down to my neck, then his teeth sank in, gently, the bite almost timid, his lips closing in to suck on the skin.

In a disproportionately sharp response, my head fell back as if recoiling from a punch, while my hands slid over his shoulders and sunk into his hair, spasming and digging in, this time with absolutely no regard for consequences for anyone involved or not involved. The sounds rising up from my throat and escaping my mouth were no longer muffled by his kiss, and I wasn’t even thinking of stifling them, and they were drawn-out, low, and hoarse.

Now he was firmly over me, his hips slotted between my thighs, and I was arching into him, my back lifting off the mattress, my ankles hooked around the backs of his knees. Wakuu sucked harder, like he planned on devouring me whole starting with my neck. That stubble of his, soft and a little ticklish, was doing just as many wonders as his teeth and tongue, and my nails dug into his scalp, and I still didn’t care enough to care. His hands cupped my breasts, warm and not-in-the-least bit rough, thumbs grazing my nipples in perfect, even circles; all of it so wonderfully, blessedly slow, measured, and rhythmic — and so viscerally intense and piercing, that I could have cried for how amazing it felt, but my lungs were stuttering on each sharp inhale, and I was too busy evaporating into steam. And too busy being torn between wanting him to never ever stop and wanting to do the same to him until he sobbed in the exact same manner I was right now. But also, wanting him to do this to other parts of me, and then for me to do this to various parts of him.

One, just one, okay? Only one!

“God... damn... neck... ro... mmmmmmm—ahhh!”

Maybe I imagined it, or maybe I actually felt Wakuu’s mouth curving into his signature sunny grin as his teeth scraped over the abused patch one more time and released it. He gave it a final swipe of his tongue, soothing over the mark left in the wake of his evil and glorious neck-romancing magic. In passing, I thought of how much I looked forward to seeing that imperfection — a treasured souvenir — in the bathroom mirror tomorrow morning, and admiring it.

Licking and nibbling down to my shoulder, then to the other side across my sternum, his mouth was blazing a trail of wet kisses, with not a single millimeter spared on the way, until his tongue was swirling in circles around my left nipple, his fingers playing with the right one, alternating between pinching and caressing, and my everything was so out of control that I shook all over, my hands now clutching and clawing at the sheets, my head thrashing from side to side, my breath reducing itself to broken gasps.

I was a touch-deprived, affection-starved mess, and he knew it, and I was okay with him knowing. So out of control yet so in trust.

Groaning, Wakuu continued on his unhurried path downwards, and every time he switched his attention to a new patch of skin, I was left on the verge of shrieking in frustration at the loss of contact, only to then yelp in pleasure anew when his mouth and tongue would immediately return — again and again, until the sounds I was producing turned into an incoherent jumble of whines and moans and sighs, sometimes coming out strangled, sometimes hitching on the exhale, sometimes a litany, sometimes a sob.

Down past my ribs, teeth grazing my contracting stomach, tongue in my belly button, tongue gliding over the blade of my hip bone and to my thighs, hands parting the way.

An interlude followed, during which Wakuu stopped and lifted his face from my body. Not for dramatic emphasis, not to tease, but merely to reorient himself in the darkness and settle more comfortably.

The pause lasted for only a few seconds, yet I experienced it as eternal, agonizing, and intolerable, whining like a needy child, blindly seeking and fumbling for his shoulders, head, arms, anything. Failing at that — because he dodged me and because I was a puddle of goo — I whined some more, louder and even more indignant this time; Wakuu was chuckling.

The warm gust of his breath hit my navel, his palms found me and ran along the insides of my thighs, and my petulant whine shifted into a whimper.

“What was that you said,” Wakuu murmured, with a huge grin and a hint of smugness audible in his voice; he moved closer and kissed the inner side of my left thigh, next to the knee, “yesterday about,” he did the same to my right thigh, dragging a proper moan out of me, “abandonment issues..?”

Technically, my outburst had been caused by separation anxiety, but like I could form words to explain the difference in terminology... And like any of it mattered right now.

I whined a bit more, in protest over everything and nothing, and once again tried to grab onto him and yank him back down. But his hands hooked behind the bend of my knees, and Wakuu pushed them upwards and apart, and my hips involuntarily jerked in expectation, and, in the end, my fingers, instead of digging into his shoulders with force like I’d planned, wound into the sheets.

He kissed my left inner thigh again, then the right, and went on alternating between them, each slow kiss getting him closer. Kiss, move, repeat, a bit higher — or lower, depending on the angle and wherever gravity was, head spinning too hard, so no idea

— the pace leisurely but unrelenting.

Heavy on the back of my thighs, the palms of his hands were also in motion; long, slender, favorite fingers spanning my skin, thumbs smoothing over it as they traveled downwards.

By the time Wakuu almost-reached his goal, I was beyond any reason, panting, nearly wheezing. The tension had coiled to the point of near-pain, as if a tight wire had been stretched within me.

A slight shift, a tiny, maddening prod — and the first sweep of his tongue made that wire snap.

Right away, he settled into a steady, languid rhythm, with the flat of his tongue drawing those long, broad strokes, as lazy as the pace of his journey. Wakuu anchored himself to me by gripping the outer side of my thighs, and his hair was tickling the inside. Unlike yesterday, he wasn’t rushing anywhere. Or maybe he had enough presence of mind to hinder himself from being overeager.

As for my mind, it might have blanked, the only coherent thought being that I was too far gone for coherent thoughts.

I’d been expecting to writhe, to squeak and thrash, but I relaxed instead.

I’d been expecting him to devour me like yesterday, in a ravenous frenzy, but Wakuu was taking his time, licking me and occasionally pausing to dip his tongue inside, flicking it upward and circling around, sucking lightly, then repeating everything at the same pace and pressure — all in a slow, slow, measured rhythm, one that had me melting and liquefying.

My ankles somehow found a home on his shoulders, while the dead weight that was my hands still sought purchase, ultimately finding it in his hair, where else. Only, I wasn’t tugging it anymore, but gently smoothing it. Letting the strands run between my fingers, for some time. Then I simply let my palms rest over his hair. My thighs weren’t trembling. They were perfectly still in his grasp. I wasn’t shrieking and clawing. My breathing calmed, evening out and getting deeper. My back wasn’t arched up into a bow; it was sinking into the mattress, as if into a soft and fluffy cloud.

All of me was sinking into that cloud. Maybe it was the disorientating darkness, maybe the exhaustion, maybe both, maybe something else.

whatever’s floating up there Maybe it was just him.

Maybe Wakuu was communicating something right now, repeating it again and again with the deliberately slow and heavy movements of his tongue and the way it dragged, letting the message sink in; through how softly his fingers held on to me, through every point where his body was making contact with mine, and through the gentle yet eager noises that he was making.

No matter what that something was, I loved and appreciated every word.

One kiss at a time, he was breaking my mind down to its most basic components, then reassembling it into something new, something unencumbered. And for a moment I felt like crying, no joke. Maybe I was crying. I was surrounded by him, cloaked in a levitating bubble of tranquility and solace. The sensation was so sublime, so permeating and potent that I ceased perceiving it as something separate from me and... became that sensation?

I might have been wrong yesterday. There was nothing funny about this. Absolutely nothing.

I wasn’t racing towards the finish line. He wasn’t hurrying me there, either; not using his fingers to speed things up, not changing the pace or pressure at all, and his tongue was beginning to feel like a second heartbeat. As if he could do this forever, as if this was enough for him. The pleasure was building up differently, too; not in a fever-pitch of acute arousal, but in a languorous, steady, and flowing way.

But it was building. This intensity was intensifying every second, clearly too intense to survive for long; the only lucid part of my mind that remained, the only bit that wasn’t floating and drifting away aimlessly, told me that as soon as I’d cave to this orgasm, it would knock me flat out, and everything would end.

I really did not want this to end just yet.

And I hated to do it, but I knew I had to, there was no other choice; I untangled my fingers from his hair, slid one palm over his cheek, under his chin, and guided him up gently, with a wordless plea.

Wakuu hummed in confusion, but this time he unlatched his mouth from me without any loud protests. Easing the pressure of his palms over my thighs, he allowed me to tilt his face up. Along the slow ascent, though, the tip of his tongue flicked several more times right over my clit, just a tad more aggressively than before — and just enough to make me twitch and gasp.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Wakuu whispered from below, teasing, the timbre of his voice husky, enveloping and heavy in the way that puzzlingly made me think both of honey and of weighted blankets. “You stopping me.”

My hand was still cupping his jaw. Already missing his lips on me, I traced their soft, damp, burning-hot outline with my thumb, and Wakuu caught it and sucked it into his mouth, slicking his tongue in a circle, then giving one playful nibble before letting go.

Dizzy, I managed to form some words. “Please, I just— I’ll black out if I come, but I don’t want to, not yet, I— Please!” My voice was plaintive. And feeble, barely a whisper.

He must have recognized a touch of desperation and took it seriously; pressing his mouth to the heel of my hand as if to apologize for his taunt, because he understood my motivations and because no, he also didn’t want me to black out just yet.

Wakuu let go of my thighs, and my bloodless heels softly thumped against the bedsheets. The air and the mattress shifted as he moved forward, sat up between my spread legs, and scooted closer, while I rose up onto my elbows. I reached out and up, found his collarbone, laid my hand below it, and felt him drawing in a deep breath, and my hand moved with that breath, as if drifting on a rising wave. Feeling his heart hammering underneath, I slid my palm lower, stroked down his mid-line — until I bumped into his erect cock and wrapped my fingers around it without much thinking. Wakuu hissed, and hissed again when I squeezed.

There were so many things I wanted to do to him: to taste and explore, to kiss and lick and nuzzle him all over, to leave more marks on his skin, and discover where he liked to be touched the most, and shower him with affection, and learn all of his responses by memory, and— I was rushing. Greedy. There was no rush. We’d have time to try everything and then some.

Also, uh, Wakuu wasn’t a girl. Well, as far as I knew.

He might have been a phenomenal cuddlebug, he might have been patient, thorough, and just as affection-starved as I was, and more prone to long hugs than anyone I’d ever met, and he might have been the least selfish-in-bed guy in existence, but he was a guy. Yes of course he would have let me slowly explore, knead, and kiss every part of him, and of course he would have enjoyed it a lot, and of course the fact that ‘the only thing men want is to fuck like jackhammers’ was not a fact at all, but an idiotic misconception, but— I stroked again, and Wakuu let out a pained groan akin to that of a wounded animal, thrusting his hips forward.

—but he was at his limit, and ‘hard’ didn’t do his cock justice, and this time there was actual ‘throbbing’ involved, and not just a little, but a whole throbbing lot, no joke.

Also, to be fair, right now I was feeling like one of those fabled macho-men who wanted nothing more than to fuck. I, too, was at my limit — the limit I’d not suspected I had.

And maybe I was in the midst of another installment of ‘My Preconceived Notions Get The Shit Kicked Out Of Them’. Whatever; you live, you learn.

“Next time, I’ll go first,” I informed Wakuu, fumbling for his forearms. “Next time, I’m going straight for kissing you all over. Right now, though—”

I heard and felt him chuckling hoarsely as I curled my fingers into both of his shoulders and tugged him down, while simultaneously rising up onto my knees, until our foreheads touched, until our lips met in another slow and sloppy kiss.

We pivoted around each other — or rather, he waltzed me around. Wakuu managed to lay on his back, pulling me on top of him, and I managed to straddle his hips; all without breaking contact with his mouth — and without breaking each other’s bones, and even without either of us plummeting to the floor in the darkness. We were already getting better at this whole maneuvering thing; we weren’t even bumping our noses anymore.

To readjust and settle myself over him, I broke the kiss, but Wakuu refused to allow me to do so, following me up. His lips landed on my chin, then found my neck; one of his hands cupped the back of my head, the other slid down my back, fingers pressing down and tracing the outlines of my spine, while his tongue was playing with my pulse point. Now that he’d discovered my weak spot, Wakuu seemed hellbent on using and abusing this knowledge to the fullest. Not that I minded it one bit.

With a moan of utter defeat, I dropped down, my chest to his chest, elbows framing his head, head on his shoulder. Lowering my open hips into the saddle of his, I grinded against his cock several times, my rhythm matching the movements of his tongue. Even an outward friction felt incredible, even these short little strokes were nearly enough to get me there. I had to remind myself to try and not get anywhere just yet. Wakuu gasped into my neck, his nails raking along my back, and his teeth sank into my skin again, sending me into spasms so acute that I saw stars behind my eyelids.

“W— I need to— Can you— Oh f—aaaah!” I was choking out the garbled syllables over the pillow, failing again and again to spell out what I needed to spell out.

Fortunately, Wakuu either got the communique or was ahead of it; he pulled one hand away from my head, and I heard him plashing the surface of the bedside table in search of the second unused condom — while his other hand kept me in place and his mouth kept working its magic.

“Oh khhh f-feelsz so gooood...”

Although said mouth was open and latched to my neck, I could have sworn that Wakuu chuckled; his chest vibrated with a smug rumble, resonating in my aching, stone-hard nipples, and the way his cock twitched between my legs, like a light slap, only added to the evidence — and to me being a shuddering mess.

This mutually assured fixation was becoming a concern, because if someone — like maybe a proper, punless necromancer — arrived on the island and turned Wakuu into a vampire, I’d just offer myself as his breakfast, dinner, supper, no questions asked; although, with how diligently he was going at it, there wouldn’t be enough juice in me for more than a meager luncheon before I was no-joke dead.

His fingers were nimble enough to locate the plastic square. Upon obtaining it, Wakuu seemingly attempted to deal with the packet using one hand, since the other was still busy steadying my body, but I finally found it in me to battle his hold and to tear my neck off his mouth. Reaching around blindly, I wrestled the condom out of his palm, straightened up, ripped the packaging open with my teeth, spat out a piece of foil in the general direction of the nightstand, shuffled ever-so-slightly backwards on my knees, and grabbed his cock, hyperventilating.

I wanted him inside me so bad. That whole length, deliciously curved like a scimitar, all of it, inside me again, now, now, now

— and off, to belatedly gallop into the sunset.

My hands shook, and my struggle to fully put the condom in place was proving counterproductive; the latex ring just stuck around the tip, and that was the limit of my current skill.

“Hey, hey,” Wakuu breathed out, his voice sounding thick, calm, and soothing, “slow down.”

At least he wasn’t laughing at me. Bonus: I knew he wouldn’t laugh at me and my overzealous, frantic state.

“I know, I know, but I’m just so—”

“Hungry,” he cut in.

Extending an arm towards me, Wakuu ran the tips of his fingers from my ankle to the back of my thigh. His palm traveled up the slope of my hip bone, his thumb drew several light circles.

“ S-so hungry,” I conceded, wincing. I’d never felt this exposed. Literal nakedness had nothing to do with the feeling.

Both of his hands came down — or up, depending on where the gravity was — landing on either side of my waist, and gently guided me all the way back onto my heels.

“Same. Same ... But we can— Maybe—” —slow down. “Just a little.”

Steadying myself against his chest, I let him take the reins and steer me.

“M-maybe we can.”

His palms pressed over my hips, his erection resting in the valley between them. Instead of hurrying to roll the condom down the length, he kept stroking my skin in pacifying motions, up and down my sides, until I stopped shaking and my breathing slowed down.

With that accomplished, Wakuu chose to savor a few additional long seconds of rolling me back and forth over the base of his cock, with each round eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us. I relaxed into it, rolling my hips into each of his pushes, and emptied my mind of everything but the tactile pleasure, the sensation of his fingers on me and the warmth seeping in from every point of contact. Until the dark, demanding greed trickled away, joining the night that reigned around us.

What followed wasn’t a dash, either, but a smooth transition. His right hand slipped off my left hip, fingers skimming downwards, and I heard the distinct sticky rustling of the sheath being rolled down, the rest of the way.

He passed the torch back to me with one last reminder, “Don’t run.”

“What about riding?” I couldn’t help but quip, coaxing a quiet chuckle out of him.

In an imitation of kicking, he nudged my knees farther apart; I rose up, adjusting to center myself over his lap, and reached down between us to guide him in.

“Definitely do.”

Wakuu caught my spare hand in his left and laced his fingers together with mine... The tenderness and the amount of trust were staggering. This simple gesture swallowed me like a tidal surge; the effect so sudden, ruthless, and overwhelming that I had to fight not to drown, choked up by an emotion as powerful as it was foreign.

My eyes were stinging. I closed them, nudging him into the hollow, and descended, and the darkness behind my eyelids exploded into a crackling electric vortex. Wakuu moaned and bucked, driving deeper inside me, momentarily forgetting his own pledge and breaking the pace. I squealed. Not only because it was sudden, but because it felt too damn good not to squeal. The nails of his right hand raked over my hip. I tightened my fingers around his, in lieu of a reminder, and he sagged down and rewinded to letting me control the speed and the angle.

The sensation was so mind-blowing in its comfort and intensity, that I couldn’t take a breath or utter a peep as I kept sliding down, down, down, enveloping him up to the hilt, until there was not a sliver of space left between us, and that was when I finally gave a long and uneven exhale which only sharpened the bliss. Wakuu echoed me with his own shaky, staccato exhale-and-whimper combination, squeezing the life out of my palm as I was squeezing the life out of his cock.

The vortex swallowed us both inside its funnel. Feeling his heartbeat inside me, I stayed put for a few beats, acclimating and marveling, before I dared to move. Rocking back and forth over the saddle of his hips, just barely, in a dream-like, sleepy rhythm, with miniscule swerves, I let my weight melt into my heels.

Our fingers stayed entwined. Pulling that conjunction closer to my mouth, I pressed my open lips to his knuckles, not to use them as a buffer for the noises bursting free of my throat, but only to kiss and lick over them.

For a time — for as long as I could — I was doing my best not to break that syrupy pace. Wakuu wasn’t thrusting or jerking up again, but I could feel and hear him straining with effort as he, too, struggled not to succumb.

Gradually, I increased the speed, adding just a smidge of vertical motion. Wakuu mirrored me, and his hips rolled under mine in a synchronous response. Releasing our secondary lifeline, his fingers slipped out of my grasp, skated over my chest, and landed over my hip opposite his other hand, both thumbs digging in on either side.

“Just— Don’t stop, don’t—” He choked on that plea. The way Wakuu tightened his hold on me already told me everything that needed telling, but the rest came spilling out of him anyway, before I could respond. “Don’t want t— Don’t ever stop!”

Sweetheart.

“I won’t.” Not having it in me to be louder or more coherent, I could only hope he’d heard the promise, because I meant to keep it.

The pace still wasn’t frenetic, and the movements were still languorous, and the rhythm wasn’t sharp or jagged, yet the tension kept on mounting and intensifying.

His hands wandered, still soft and feather-light. For how long would we be able to keep the Slow up?

A stream of moans and gasps was leaking out of us both, and they were rising in volume. I rocked a little faster, a little rougher, and faster and rougher and rougher; the bony frame of his hips, his cock inside me, were inexorably becoming the angle and axis of my universe.

For a time; for so long, so impossibly, blissfully long. Until I felt like all of me was liquid — and as heavy as mercury. My upper body gave way, and I folded into his chest, bracing my forearms next to his head on the pillow.

In an instant, Wakuu enveloped me in his arms, clutching me to himself like he was drowning and I was a lifesaver. He let out a desperate, reverberating whine... or a warning. Or another plea.

“I’m here,” I breathed into the curve of his shoulder, continuing to roll my hips, “I’m with you. Not going anywhere.”

That was it, the moment where my lead was supplanted by his, the moment where my control ended and my undoing began.

Wakuu anchored me in place, bent his knees behind me, secured his feet on the mattress to give himself better leverage, and slammed up into me, so deep and hard and sharp that the sensation pierced through the length of my spine and shot out of my mouth, although the moan I let loose was more like a screech, because, holy shit.

Holy shit.

“Oh please ohhh pleaseohplease.” What was I even begging for?

Wakuu snarled. Had he always been capable of making that sound?!

My toes curled. As if to brace for another hit. And oh damn did it hit.

His hips shot upwards again. Wakuu thrust into me with the determination and a sense of purpose that I hadn’t expected and was ill-equipped for.

The force with which his cock rammed inside, rippled throughout me, it reverberated in a shock wave that traveled through my entire body and bounced off the darkness, returning and building upon the echo.

And again, and again— The initial impact had merely served to warn me. Not only did the sensation keep to its piercing-through nature; it kept growing in intensity.

—and again, and again, all semblance of restraint thrown out the window. For the first few, I was trying to keep up, to meet him halfway or at least a third of the way. Every time his hips snapped into mine, I was grinding into him, or trying to, while gripping fistfuls of the sheets above his head.

“Don’t move,” he rasped, and his grip on me grew fierce, not allowing any retreat.

With no objections, I stilled. Wakuu was taking me apart so thoroughly that I couldn’t efficiently do anything, either way. No longer wanting to do anything but to continue experiencing this.

There was nothing gentle or slow about the process anymore, no such thing as finesse left in it — only the urgent, rabid hunger for relief, for more, more, more. His lower body worked upwards into mine. My shoulders jerked with the force of his assault, my breathing was broken.

His nails were sinking deeper and harder into my back, leaving imprints and scratches. His breath, ragged and just as broken as mine, hit my cheek, then corkscrewed into my carotid as he fastened his mouth to my neck, and just like that, his tongue and teeth were back to tormenting it.

The noises that were tearing themselves free from him sounded feral and ravenous. Wakuu was all but growling as he sucked on the bruised skin on the side of my throat. I was caught. No longer able to support my torso or my head, or to move, or breathe, or do much else aside from pressing my knees tighter to his waist and clinging to his shoulders for dear life, with whatever remained of my strength.

—and again and again and again—

I couldn’t tell where I was ending or where he began. I couldn’t tell where I was or why or how or who. No. Joke.

All I was aware of: his hips pounding upwards into me in an erratic assault, the insane friction, his arms locked tightly around my back, the way my nipples scraped over his damp chest with every movement, his scent surrounding me, and everything below my jaw either on fire or catching fire. And then the sensation, that one singular, intense sensation of my insides being pummeled into oblivion as his thrusts kept on coming. Not letting up or slowing down or changing. Merciless. Unstoppable. Hard enough to send me jumping, brutal, verging on savage, frenzied with need. Rough, forceful, his strength and tempo increasing with each stroke. Hungry, hungry, so hungry, so very hungry. Wakuu was all but crushing me to himself as he constricted my movements.

—and again and again andagainandgainand— Ohhhhhh that curve. Oh g-g-ghawd, oh the accursed nonexistent god, oh f-fuuuuuck!

His pace was losing cohesion, the rhythm shifting into a chaotic wild thrashing, our skin slamming together audibly, our sweat mingling, and Wakuu wasn’t loosening the death-grip his hands had over me, if anything, he held on harder.

Drooling uncontrollably over the pillow, crying out with every deep stroke and sobbing with every shallow retreat, loud enough to deafen him, and maybe deafen the whole island along with him, and deafen all of the fishes, big and small, around the island and beyond, and maybe also to break the bed into tiny splinters with that sonic wave, I held on and let him batter away at me from below, and the steady pounding was hitting at the exact same point, inexhaustibly, and his cock kept plowing, drilling into that sweet spot inside of me over, over, and over, and over, and over, and it felt incredible, and I was done for I was done for I was doomed. Plummeting through the atmosphere, I was on my way to full incineration, the ground was rushing at me, and nothing would be reaching it—

“Fuuuuuu—AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Okay, so...

Firstly, bless the Climb and what it had done to his thigh muscles.

Secondly... Farewell to ‘aww such a pity I have no next-door neighbors except for the ocean’ notion. Hello, ‘thank goodness I have no human neighbors’. I’d have felt so responsible, so guilty for disrupting their sleep...

I’d have felt it much later, though.

Maybe.

If ever.

what guilt who cares just had the best orgasm of my life with the best guy ever Thirdly...

“I’m g— So... damn... hard!” Wakuu hissed out as, right on the heels of mine, a spasm tore through his body.

And, all of a sudden, perhaps through the encroaching power of Transparent Almonds, I finally understood what my Sexology professor meant by casually declaring to the entire class, ‘You know what the best foreplay is? Communication.’

Unlike back then, now I was neither rolling my eyes nor scoffing at the statement, and I never would again.