"If only we could," she says, amused, and gives them both what they want by guiding him inside her. He slips in easily, and she groans. He's made for her.
He presses forward as soon as his cockhead brushes her entrance, and he presses slow and deep, his finger pads still against her clit. He gives a long and none-too-quiet moan, barely having the sense to turn his head into the pillow to muffle it.
How wonderful his sounds are, and that he still moans like it's the first time he's felt her. Jill moans too, albeit much more quietly, wishing to hear him.
He turns his head back to breathe heavily into her hair instead, barely dragging out of her at all before pressing right back in. She feels incredible.
"I could," he admits. He's still tired. "But I want you to come..."
He closes his eyes, letting the feel of her subsume him entirely. The slickness of her all around him, the slide of her flesh under the pad of his finger. The sound of wet skin on skin.
"I'd have you satisfied ten times a day if we had the time."
"Five has left me with weak legs for the day," she teases, though there's some truth to that. Experience. She reaches back to touch his face. "Very dangerous with all these stairs."
"I hope so," he says. Despair doesn't feel too far behind him, but it's easy to forget, wrapped around her as he is. He leans into her harder, his weight against her back. "And so it should remain."
He is loathe to separate from her, but he loves to take a request: he groans and slowly pulls his hand from her and eases off her so he can roll onto his back. His cock slides from her in the process, bouncing against her bare thigh.
They're not apart for long. The moment he rolls, Jill is straddling him, guiding him back inside her and laying belly to belly. She smiles down at him for a moment before kissing him deeply, tongue sliding into his mouth with a hum.
Clive gropes along her hips as she straddles him, the air cool on his wet dick so briefly he imagines they were never parted at all. He lets out a sharp breath as she sinks against him, and he meets that kiss greedily. A shiver runs through him, and his grip on her hips tightens briefly before he grinds her against him.
No, he could say, but her love for him makes his heart surge. Imagine, being perfect in her eyes, the most important person who could love him like this. He gazes up at her, at her pale eyelashes, and that little break in the kiss gives him time to gasp: “I’m yours.”
"I thank the heavens for that every night," she tells him, and it may not be an exaggeration. They're meant to be together, forever. She knows that. "We were made for one another, Clive."
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"We could sleep like this," she murmurs.
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"I could," he admits. He's still tired. "But I want you to come..."
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"I wish I could know the number of times you've made me come this past year," she muses. "Hundreds, do you think?"
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"I'd have you satisfied ten times a day if we had the time."
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“I could not bear to dream of touching you less than that on our best days…”
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"I think you should get on your back," she murmurs, finding some of his hair and giving a gentle tug. "Let me look at you."
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“As you wish,” he breathes.
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"You're perfect," she moans.
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It's sweet.
"You gather me up in your arms like I dared to escape."
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"A little. I like it, usually."
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