My fingers frantically try to find purchase on his sweat-slicked back as he continues pounding into me. My heels lock behind his thighs, desperate for more. Harder. Faster.
“Fuck... please, please, Jazz...” I moan.
I'm beyond all reason. I just need.
He overwhelms my senses like always. His scent – our scent – drives me crazy.
“More,” I pant.
The litany of curses that spills from his lips as he gives me what I want has me grinning. I love it when he lets go like this.
He wipes the smirk from my face with a searing kiss.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head back as his mouth ravages mine. His hips are relentless, driving him deeper into me.
I feel my body tensing, my toes tingling, and I lift my hips to meet his, whimpering. He grunts, teeth capturing my tongue as his rhythm stutters. The tension explodes, sending my hot release between us as his arms tighten against me.
His hips slow as his lips pull from mine, and his head hangs down beside my face, his panting breath tickling my ear. With my eyes closed and lips parted, I relish every second.
After a minute, he pulls himself up with a quiet groan. He rolls his eyes at my breathy chuckle and mutters, “Your fault, you know.”
At that, I laugh – he joins in before kissing me tenderly.
“I love you,” I murmur, brushing sweaty locks from his face.
“Love you, too, Ed,” he says, grinning crookedly.
He pushes off me and gets up to walk to the bathroom, his gait not as steady as his demeanor would lead me to believe.
I watch as he quickly cleans himself before returning with a washcloth. I hum as he takes care of me.
When he settles beside me again, he rolls toward me. His hand rests on my hip as he kisses me languidly. Through all our years together, I’ve come to enjoy this time the most – sated and content, beginning our slow build to the next time we can’t keep our hands off each other.
His fingertips trace lazy patterns on my skin as his tongue brushes mine. When he pulls away, it isn’t to go far. His eyes open, and I’m trapped in the vibrant blue.
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Sleep? Or…”
“Or what?” I ask.
His eyes flicker to the door before focusing back on me, though he doesn't speak.
It's all I can do not to laugh again. I've learned over the years that Jasper's got a sweet tooth – one heightened after sex. More than once, we've indulged in a post-coital snack.
Mocha flavored ice cream is his favorite choice.
The same ice cream I just so happened to have restocked today, in anticipation of tonight.
Deciding to tease him, I try to keep a straight face as he pouts.
“Or what, baby?”
“You know what,” he grumps.
Sitting up, I kiss him briefly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I answer as sincerely as possible. He frowns at me and sighs, flopping onto his back.
“I’m gonna go check the front door.” I slide out of bed, glancing back to find him staring at the ceiling with a cute little pout on his lips.
I check the lock and then steal into the kitchen as quietly as possible, pulling the ice cream from its hiding place in the back of the freezer. I dish up two generous bowls and head back to our bedroom, where he’s lying with his eyes closed.
He keeps his eyes closed as I sit down next to him, though his hand searches me out. Squeezing my thigh, he smiles.
Stifling a chuckle, I brush the cold bowl against his nipple, making him yelp, his eyes popping open in surprise.
“Oh you evil, little...” he growls.
When he sees his favorite dessert, he quickly changes tack. “...wonderful, loving, sweet man.”
I laugh. “Who loves you, baby?”
Kissing me quickly, he grabs his bowl. “You do,” he mumbles around a spoonful of ice cream.
We settle against the headboard, eating quietly.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”