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"Not complaining!"
We both giggled at each other, still catching our breaths. I tried each muscle in turn -- I could already feel the burning in my legs from the hard fucking -- and I knew I'd ache in the morning. I stretched to relieve some of the stiffness.
"You've bruised me, look at my boobs!" I accused, playfully. The finger marks on my hips and breasts should have concerned me, but I wasn't worried. The idea that he'd been rough enough to do that turned me considerably. When he looked genuinely contrite, I laughed and echoed him. "Not complaining!"
A few seconds of silence -- this time endlessly comfortable -- stretched before us as we lounged in languid bliss. An irrational question burned in the back of my anxious mind: "Was that ok for you? Really?"
"You idiot," Nathan rolled his eyes and kissed me sweetly in reassurance.
We lounged in bed for a while longer, telling jokes and talking about everything and nothing. I checked the time and realised we should probably eat soon -- my tummy rumbled to confirm my suspicions. In the time we'd spent fucking and talking, the sky had darkened almost to pitch. I stood and retrieved his shirt, which fit tightly over my breasts and waist, and I held my hand out to help him up. The sparkling electricity between us promised an extremely late night.
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