Stories We Ruined Together Pt. 04

------------- Author note ------------------

Hello, the other parts of the story so far can be found on my profile, here:

https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=2071647&page=submissions

Your feedback, positive or not, is always very very welcome - it gives me ideas and motivation. Thanks for reading.

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"You want me to stay?" Ed asked me.

"Yeah, I do."

"Okay. I mean, two nights ago you wanted to take things a bit slow, so I just want to make sure that you're sure about me staying. You're not completely sober."

I shook my head slowly, tickling his chin with my messed-up hair. "We don't have to do anything. Let's just be together tonight."

"Okay." We remained there in silence for a while. "Did it hurt, when that crazy lady smacked you round the face?"

"Not really. I think I had some adrenaline going by that point. It probably would have hurt like hell otherwise. Did it look all dramatic?"

"Yeah, it was pretty intense. I wonder how the rest of their evening went."

"It was his fault, mainly. I didn't know they were together."

"You did nothing wrong," Ed told me, and slowly got up from the sofa, and lifted me up gently to my feet. "That's one thing off the list, one scene that you'll be able to do a serious job on. I think the next one might be easier, maybe. It's the one where Rosie tells a guy all about her biggest insecurities."

I groaned. "Oh hell. Well, not tonight anyway. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. Let's go to bed."

Ed borrowed my spare toothbrush and we did all the pre-sleep rituals as best as can be done in a small flat with someone you've never shared a night with before. It was all a bit self-conscious, Ed became... not less sure of himself, but quieter, overly respectful of my personal space, somewhat distant. When he emerged from the bathroom I had taken off my evening outfit and was tucked under the covers in my pyjamas --the full, cover-all kind, that really are the only option for an English winter in a poorly-insulated home. Ed removed his t-shirt and hopped into bed in only his boxers. I mumbled that he would definitely freeze to death before morning. He said it was fine, that he ran warm naturally. I informed him that I would relay that information to the paramedics in a few hours.

We were quiet for awhile, each on our back on our own side of the double bed, and staring up at the darkened ceiling. Some of my energy was slowly returning, and the wine-fog lifting. I wanted to do something. Not everything, but something. It seemed almost... wrong to sleep on separate sides, and pretend we didn't want each other. Not wrong. But... childish somehow, to pretend that we wanted nothing else. I pondered how to initiate something, and settled on an attempt at humour.

"Ed," I whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Ed," I repeated, this whisper louder and urgent.

"What?" He laughed.

"Are you asleep?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't think I'm asleep."

"Okay."

"Okay.

"Ed?"

"Yeah?"

"This is Lizzie."

"I thought it was."

I waited a few seconds. "Ed?"

"Yeah, Lizzie?"

"Do you want to come over and kiss for a while?"

Now he waited, like he was considering the invitation. "Yeah, alright then."

"Okay, cool. Come over whenever you're ready."

"I'll be over in a minute."

And he waited a full minute (I know because I counted the seconds my next thing was going to be to complain if he moved over any earlier or later), and we lay on our sides beside each other, and I could just about see his face in the almost-dark, and he cupped my chin and kissed me very very slowly. And it felt good, it felt so good. Maybe the violent wrestle with a man's mouth earlier that evening provided a beneficial contrast, because his lips felt so soft, and his touch on my shoulder was as tender as anything I could remember. His hand moved down to my waist and then my hip, and I responded with mine on his arm, stroking the hairs on his skin, as I met his tongue with mine and something inside me shivered. Taking his hand, I moved it along my hip, to my inner thigh, and waited for him to take it further. He teased me, gently running his fingers around the most important region, where I now desperately wanted his touch, getting closer before moving further away again.

"It's a shame," he murmured in my ear. "These pyjamas are too thick, there's no way through."

"I'll help you." I pulled them off, hurriedly, cast them to the bottom of the bed, only minutes after I'd put them on in the first place.

"Very kind." He suddenly took me by the waist and pulled me over him, put me down on the other side, before resuming his attentions. "Sorry, I need my right hand for this." That was fine with me, anything to have the job done properly. I caressed the front of his boxers, gently, and found that he was aroused, he was into this. Then his index finger gently met my wetness, and my intake of breath was sharp -- almost embarrassingly so. It had been a long time since anyone had been there except myself.

He was in no rush, everything was slow, I found myself moving my hips to meet him halfway, wanting more. and I reached into his boxers, hoping to excite him into speeding up, and grasped his hardness. It worked, he entered me gently with one finger, and I gripped the bedsheet on my left, and opened my legs wider. With a slow rhythm, I began the strokes that I knew he wanted, and felt him further swell in my grip.

"I need this," I whispered to him, without knowing why. He withdrew his finger and stroked the lips, then gently nudged his knuckle against my clitoris. I clenched everything and lost my rhythm, let go of his erection for a moment, and he made a noise of feigned annoyance.

"Get that hand back where it belongs," he told me, and I did, suppressing laughter. "And don't you dare laugh."

"Yes boss." I stroked firmer and faster now, and his breathing followed suit. Again he touched my most sensitive place, and he began to play with it, back and forth with the tip of his finger, sending charges pulsing outwards through my body. "Keep that going."

"You too." For awhile there was no sound other than our breaths, shallow and quick, and the noises of skin on moistened skin. Ed reached over awkwardly to touch my chest but it was the one that had been rudely tweaked earlier and I flinched.

"Oh, sorry."

"You can touch the other one."

"Not sure I can get my hand round that way," he said, and we laughed. "Shuffle over a bit." I did and he filled his hand with my small breast. "There we go."

"Is your dirty talk always like this?" I asked him, winking before closing my eyes again. The waves were building within me, steadily. My thighs were slick.

"Just you wait. Just you wait." And then, a few seconds later. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck."

"Are you nearly there?" My question was unnecessary. I could feel him tense, his finger work became erratic, he moved and pressed his head back against the mattress, groaned loudly. "Don't worry cum, I'll get you out!" I'd always wanted to say that. He half-laughed and half-moaned, and I was very pleased with myself, for finally using that line. And despite his increasingly out of step attentions to me, I felt closer and closer myself, simply from knowing what I was doing to him.

"This is going to make a mess," he said, voice tight and strained.

"I want it to," I said, and concentrated hard on my rhythm, on keeping my tired wrist going. Hoping he would finish before my hand fell off. "I want amess." One, two, three, four, five, six strokes more and then everything of him tensed further, I felt his erection harden still more, he let out a broken groan of pleasure, and I felt the semen spurt out, all over my fingers, his underwear, the underside of the duvet. He grabbed my hand to stop the fast movement, guided me to a very slow, smooth pumping motion, and more of the thick liquid released itself, to ooze over my hand, warm and sticky, until his cock twitched its last attempts to expel, and his body relaxed itself.

I left my hand down there -- it made sense to keep all the mess together -- and guided his back to its rhythm, smoothly stroking my clitoris, but faster now. Then a moment later I swung my leg over to straddle him, and we kissed hard, and he kept it going, kept the pace, lifted my pyjama top and licked my un-traumatised nipple with a stiff tongue.

"Just like that," I gasped through gritted teeth. "Don't stop. Don't stop." He didn't, his fingers must have been soaked, I could feel my lubrication running down my leg, and my whole body was beaded with sweat, the cold of the room long forgotten in the burning heat we had created under the covers. I wanted to come so badly, I needed the rush, I needed the freedom of it. Everything was tight, all my muscles, except my entrance, but all that was required at that moment was this external stroking, this amazing, simple movement which shouldn't be so powerful but it just is. He sucked on my nipple and for a moment I was about to lift my hand from his boxers and taste his ejaculate, it seemed like something I was inexplicably desperate to do, but before I could I was taken by a fast and hard escalation within and I knew I was almost done. I pushed against him with my hips, grinding against his fingers and I could hear myself whimpering, and then it burned through me and I cried out, riding the flames of my orgasm over ten seconds of shuddering bliss, before my thighs involuntarily clamped around Ed's hand and I collapsed forward against him, heart pounding a hundred miles an hour.

We lay like that for awhile. My body on his, but despite our similar height, the weight difference was enough to keep him safe from crushing. I was slim and light of frame, he was stockier. I drifted into sleep -- but remained there for only seconds before his weary voice woke me.

"I'd like to get up and clean myself up now."

"Do it in the morning," I muttered, and kissed his jaw.

"It'll dry overnight and be awful. Honestly, you'd regret it too."

"Fine, fine. In a minute. I'll let you get up in a minute." I didn't plan to countdown the seconds this time. I was satisfied, warm, pleasantly tired, safe. It had been such a long time since I had felt that way. "That was nice."

"Yeah. It was very nice."

"I liked the bit when you came. And then the bit when I came," I said.

"Yeah, me too. Those were probably the best bits."

"Maybe I can squeeze a mutual handplay scene into the book somewhere."

"Mmm, maybe. I'm not sure it would be considered dramatic enough. But you could try. Right, I'm getting up." I didn't cooperate, all I did was lie there, and he rolled me off of him, and stumbled to the bathroom. From there, he called back "It's all over me. Disaster."

"Have a shower then. It's natural stuff, it's not going to hurt you. And bring me some wipes from the cabinet, for my hand. I don't want to get it on the sheets."

That night I slept deeply, and calmly, waking once to find myself curled up against Ed. I smiled and basked in my fulfilled glow, in the sensation of being wanted and cared for, and went back to sleep.

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