Chapter 25
Brielle’s POV
Tim stumbles into unfamiliar territory, his usual confidence deserting him as he attempts to broach the topic of a booty call. His awkwardness is unexpectedly endearing-charming, even-as the gravity of what he’s asking begins to settle. We laugh while he tries to find his words, yet between the humor, his request stirs something serious inside me. Doubts creep in with the memories of the other women who still orbit his life. He swore he wouldn’t cross the line with them, at least not intimately, and though trust feels precarious, his quiet earnestness makes me believe him. Or maybe I *choose* to believe him because the risk feels worth taking. If not Tim, then whom? Rolling the dice on some stranger picked up at a bar hardly seems safer.
And so, I agree-on his terms and mine. When he realizes I’ve said yes, his face transforms, a joy so pure it catches me off guard. He sweeps me into his arms as though rehearsing to carry me over a threshold, and suddenly, my bedroom becomes the stage for my very first official booty call.
Before he carries me in, a fleeting thought rushes in-did I change my sheets last? But Tim, with his hardened excitement pressing through his jeans, commands all my focus, and the stray thought vanishes. Any anxiety about preparation fades alongside the smirk he wears, an intoxicating mixture of tenderness and thrilling anticipation. Tim’s size has lingered in my memory since our last encounter -an emotional whirlwind of spontaneity and need-and my curiosity simmers, wondering if it’ll feel the same, or different.
When he lays me on the bed, his every movement embodies care. His eyes are deliberate, his touch
reverent, peeling away my clothes with almost ceremonial precision. The swirl of emotions intensifies, feelings I’ve no intention of untangling now. Tim consumes me, plunging into my world and making my desires his priority. Time collapses as he climbs onto the bed, sealing the moment with a fiery kiss
that obliterates boundaries as his tongue claims mine.
When he pauses-kneeling, reaching for protection-I take it from his hand, unwrapping it myself. His gaze doesn’t waver; he watches, rapt and burning, as I roll the condom onto him. I can tell this act pleases him, my effort, my involvement. A faint grin pulls at his mouth, steeped in the raw intimacy of shared vulnerability.
His hand brushes over himself, adjusting the condom down the shaft. For a flash, I wonder if the fit is
uncomfortable, but his focus shifts back. His tip traces the slick warmth waiting for him, testing the threshold before his entry. The sensation of him-spreading, filling, claiming-is almost overwhelming. His face becomes an open window to his awe, as though watching something he never thought tangible.
Then, with a quiet intensity, Tim maneuvers my ankles onto his shoulders. The new position surprises me, but before I can dwell on it, the rhythm of his deep, slow strokes steals my breath away. He stretches me in ways I’ve never felt-every thrust deliberate, every retreat a teasing invitation. And when the tempo picks up, the experience grows electric. I’m no longer in control, swept into new territory where sensation dictates reality.
His fingers trail downward, finding that delicate place needing attention. As his strokes gain speed, his touch escalates, teasing me into the precipice of release. My body clenches, involuntarily responding to the pressure mounting within me, until my cries fill the room, his name escaping in frenzied abandon. Tim’s expression shifts-pride and satisfaction etched deeply as he realizes he’s taken me
11:08
18.89%
beyond limits not once, but twice, while his own finish looms ever closer.
With care, he lowers my legs, reconnecting us fully as he adjusts into a different angle, his thrusts slower now but unimaginably deep. He folds himself onto me, our bodies flush as sweat beads on his skin. His breathing grows labored, his energy spent in this push toward his own release. I meet him halfway, my hips arching upward to amplify each motion, forging a rhythm untethered from reality. And within a blink, Tim’s voice becomes a guttural growl, declaring his climax as he spills into protection.
His arms tremble, yet he holds his weight away from me, reluctant to let the moment end. When he collapses beside me, his insistence on proximity pulls us into a tangled embrace. I end up atop him, legs splayed naturally to cradle his still-pulsing hardness. He looks utterly spent yet captivating, his closed eyes calming, a picture of satiated bliss.
A flicker of mischief disrupts the peace when his eyes reopen. The curiosity returns-would he soften while buried within me, or perhaps not at all? His renewed thrust shocks a laugh out of me, a playful rebuttal. “You’re kidding,” I manage, but his smirk tips his hand; he has no intentions of stopping. Another deliberate push confirms it.
“No,” I protest, twisting away. “It’s time to sleep,” I insist, though my demand carries no weight. His hands prevent my retreat, and another thrust seals his determination. Then, without warning, he lifts me away, swings his feet to the floor, and disappears toward the bathroom. The aftermath of our marathon hits me as I collapse backward, remnants of exertion stretching me tender yet leaving a
smile etched in my features.
When Tim returns, condom discarded, his soft member swings as he approaches me with a washcloth. This act-too gentle for expectation-catches me unprepared. Nudging my legs apart, he cleanses me, washing away the sweat and evidence of passion. It’s oddly intimate, his care raising standards I didn’t even know existed. Men, I’d thought, cared only in the moment, but Tim proves me
wrong.
He vanishes briefly before sliding back into bed, drawing me into him, wrapping me tight like he’s staking a claim. His kiss, soft yet lingering, says everything words wouldn’t. Later, his spooned position presses his hand against my breast, another splayed across my stomach, warmth enveloping me. Security nests alongside contentment, and I can only marvel.
Whatever this arrangement is-temporary or otherwise-I’m in it for now. If every call feels like this one, I’m willing to take the gamble. A flicker of sadness threatens, knowing the moment when someone else replaces me edges closer every day. But then, the joy overtakes, and I let the thought drift. Tonight, at least, is mine, and it was perfection.
