Page 46 of Stand Your Ground

She shook her head. “No, no.”

I made a peace sign and wiggled my tongue between them next.

Livia sucked her teeth. “Come on, now. You will have already done that. If your line was playing in the third period and you were down by one, you wouldn’t ask coach to bench you, would you? You wouldn’t leave it to someone else to finish the job, would you?”

“Liv,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t. I literally cannot—”

“Yes, you can,” she assured me.

And she squeezed her hand around me, just the right kind of pressure, and started pumping.

“Please,” I begged.

“If you want me to stop, you know the words to say.”

She was asking me to use the safe words if I wanted out, andGod,I was tempted. I was fucking spent.

But I was also insatiable when it came to this woman, and watching her play with my cum on her knees had my cock hardening again of its own free will.

Livia smirked at the sight. “That’s it. Get hard for me again, baby. Get me off.”

I groaned, head falling back as she worked me until I was hard as stone. Then, she slid the toy back on.

It was actually easier this time, that restraint I had to hold onto. My body wasn’t wound as tight. I wasn’t quite as desperate. But it was still work as she increased the pace, as she moaned and teased and drew it out until she knew I was actively fighting against coming.

When she said the word and allowed me my second orgasm, I sounded more like I was in pain than in ecstasy. The climax ripped through me swift and sweet, like a little exclamation point on the night.

And then I really did melt into the couch.

“I can’t move,” I mumbled like I was drunk. “I’ll never move again. I live here now.”

Livia just chuckled, and then I swore she pressed a slow, soft kiss against my cheek, but I couldn’t trust my reality at the moment.

“You don’t have to move. I’m going to take care of you. Just relax. You did well.”

That praise was the final nail in the coffin, and the last thing I heard before darkness took me.

If You Let Me

Livia

There is this euphoric kind of Zen that comes with jewelry making.

At first, everything requires focus and attention. I have to pick out all the jewels, chains, beads and fasteners. I have to lay everything out, plan, measure, get my tools set. My hands are shaking a bit as I get started, knowing one little mess up could mean starting all over again.

But somewhere in the middle, all that focus fades, and I find a rhythm.

It’s like meditation, the methodical repetition of crafting a gold chain or linking beads or setting jewels. It’s one of my favorite parts of the whole process, one of the reasons this craft became so much more to me than just a hobby.

I felt that kind of Zen now — post-orgasm high, a glass of wine in my hand and my feet kicked up on the couch next to Carter. Zamboni was curled up next to me, his head in my lap, and I stroked the fur behind his ears absentmindedly as he snoozed. I wore one of Carter’s t-shirts that I’d stolen from his bedroom closet, and I savored the smell of it as I sipped the wine.

Cedar wood. Bergamot. Mint.

I told myself it was just a little observation. It definitely wasn’t me pulling the fabric into my fist and closer to my nose.I most certainly didn’t inhale it with a little smile, either. And it was just out of necessity that I also pulled on a pair of his boxer briefs.

I just wanted to be comfy.

A car backfired somewhere nearby, and Zamboni’s head popped up, his ears alert before he let out a little bark. I soothed him with another pet, patting my leg for him to lay back down, but the bark was enough to make Carter stir.