Chapter Thirty-Six: Snack

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Luke:

After Fee and I do it the second time, I get rid of the condom and then crawl back over to her and hold her really tight in my arms.

Her skin is warm and soft and a little sticky. I smooth my fingers over her hair, kiss her forehead, feel so mushy on the inside when she winds her arms around my torso and rests her head against my chest, her lips brushing the side of my neck.

We just hold each other for a long time. Sex is so... intense, and crazy, and hot and emotional. I mean, we were literally connected. Wrapped around each other, hearts beating together, trying to make each other feel good. "Love you, Feelz," I grumble, squeezing her slender, curvy little body real tight. God, I just... Love her so much. Fuck.

"I love you too," she whispers, craning her face up, fluttering her lips over mine. It's like there's this warm, golden bubble surrounding us, making everything bright and peaceful and happy.

I want to have this, this thing with her, these feelings, this comfort, for the rest of my life. How boring and plain and meaningless would life be without it?

I'm tired but not sleepy. We had a nap earlier and my body isn't ready to go back to sleep again. And actually, I'm kinda hungry. "Feelz," I murmur against the tip of her nose, "Wanna go have a snack or something?"

As soon as I ask, her stomach gurgles and she giggles adorably. "Sure."

We untangle ourselves and she groans a little, pressing her thighs together, as she sits up. "You alright?" I ask, studying her. God, she's beautiful. And, uh. Covered in hickeys, which just makes me strangely satisfied with myself. Hickeys all over her boobs and some on her inner thighs, a couple on her neck that I know she's gonna be embarrassed about tomorrow. One on her upper arm. I don't even remember how that one could've gotten there but oh well.

"I'm good, just a little sore." She catches me staring at her and looks down at herself and sucks in a surprised breath, flushing pink. She touches her fingers to the top of one of her breasts, skimming over an emerging red bruise. "Oh my gosh. Luke..."

I chuckle, sweeping a hand through the top of my hair. "Means I did a good job, right?"

She scrunches her nose at me, gives my arm a small thwack. "I'm covered in hickeys, Luke!" Her face is burning but she's also trying not to smile.

I shrug, reaching out to brush one of her soft round cheeks with a crooked finger. "Only you and I can see them." It's like... a strange, intimate secret. Physical proof of what we've done to each other. She'll look in the mirror for days and remember everything that happened. "I like... seeing my marks all over you," I admit roughly.

Her pupils dilate and her mouth falls into an O. "That's kinda... really hot," she whispers.

Yeah, I agree.

I slide off the bed and rifle through my dresser for clothes. I slip into a pair of blue-and-white cotton PJ pants, not bothering with underwear. Then I grab a plain black t-shirt and make my way back to where she's sitting at the edge of my bed and tugging her panties on.

I stand in front of her, gently slide the shirt over her head, my palms skimming down her body as I do. She looks good in my clothes. The shirt drowns her, falls nearly mid-thigh.

She sighs, bunching some of the fabric in her hands and tucking her head down to take a good whiff of it. "I love the way your clothes smell, Luke," she says, a content smile on her face.

She stands up in front of me and a couple smooth fingertips skim across my right pec. I look down. So I guess she left a few marks of her own.

She looks up at me, almost shyly, her brown eyes so big and dark, sparkling.

I reach out, draw her to me firmly by the shoulders. She furls her arms around my torso, presses her cheek to my bare chest, to where my heart is beating a steady rhythm beneath my sternum.

She holds me close, coos a little, snuggles further into me. Makes me feel so gooey.

I wish there were more words to describe the way we feel for each other, so I could explain it better. It just... takes my breath away sometimes. Every cheesy, love-dovey, disgustingly affectionate feeling, rolled into one and multiplied by a thousand.

After a second she turns her head around, her chin resting on my chest, neck tilted back to look up at me. She looks so vulnerable and almost lost when she whispers, "Will you love me forever, Luke?"

I lean down and squash our noses together, my grip tight and fervent on her shoulder-blades. "Forever, Ophelia," I promise gruffly, and we crane our lips towards each other at the same time, and our mouths tangle together in a soft but desperate kiss.

I don't bother putting a shirt on as we wander hand in hand to the kitchen, because I like the way she runs those small hands of hers casually over my skin when she feels like it, or kisses my bare shoulder, presses her body close. Plus I just feel super warm right now.

"Do you want some of those grilled cheese and Nutella sandwiches my mom makes?" I ask, knowing we have all the ingredients for them.

"Sounds yummy," she agrees.

I swing open the fridge and pull out the margarine and a pack of sliced Jarlsberg cheese while she grabs the Nutella and bread from the pantry.

She leans against the counter next to me as I get busy buttering four slices of bread, spreading the other side with Nutella, then layering on some cheese. When I glance up to look at her, she's biting her lip and focusing on my hands as they put the sandwiches together.

"What?" I ask, curious about the soft look on her face.

She blushes and then explains breathlessly, "Nothing. I just... like your hands."

That makes me smile a big, crooked grin. "I know you like them."

Her flush deepens and she crosses her arms over her petite chest, looking away shyly.

I give her a wink. "I like your hands too, by the way."

A gentle snort as she rolls her eyes adorably. "I bet you do."

Mm, now I'm thinking about her hands wrapped around my dick, mine fondling her tits and sliding between her legs. Great.

"Perv," she accuses, smiling. "I know what you're thinking about."

I raise an eyebrow, turning towards her, coming to stand in front of her so I have her pinned against the counter. Her breath catches and she gazes up at me as my hips dig softly into hers. "Oh yeah?" My voice is low. God, she smells like... mhm, sex. A little dirty and sweaty but so fucking good. "What am I thinking about?"

She purses her lips together, looking up at me through thick lashes. "Bad things."

That makes me laugh. She's can be so... modest. Shy about this stuff. It's really cute. "Bad? It didn't feel bad."

She's fighting back a silly smile. "It wasn't bad," she murmurs. "It was perfect."

Aw, Feelz. I give her forehead a peck and her hip a squeeze before reaching for a frying pan from the drawer below the stove. I have a sneaking suspicion that she's staring at my ass as I bend over.

"I like... your butt, too," she confesses.

"I'm not surprised."

Fuck, the way she was grabbing at my ass when I was buried inside her, like she was silently asking for more. I can't wait until she gets more comfortable because I want to drive her absolutely fricking insane, get her tugging at my hair, scratching at me. I want it slow and fast and rough and gentle and everything in between with her.

"And your abs. And your face, and your hair," she lists matter-of-factly.

As I flip the stove on, there's a lopsided smirk spreading across my lips. "I think you're forgetting the most important body part."

"Your brain? Your heart?" She giggles. I feel her snake her arms around my waist, press against me from behind as I drop both sandwiches in the pan so they start sizzling.

As they're crisping on the stove, I gently grasp one of her hands that rests on my stomach and guide it lower, lower, until her palm is splayed over my dick with my hand on top of hers. She sucks in a breath and I let out a low grumble, already half-hard.

"Oh," she whispers. She gives my cock a gentle squeeze and heat rushes down my spine, settles at the bottom of my gut. "Yeah, I like this too."

Her lips are a flutter against my back, one of her arms curled around the front of my chest, winding under one armpit and over my shoulder, while the other floats gently over my dick that's covered only by the thin cotton of my pants.

Suddenly I picture her sitting on the countertop as I fuck her, her legs wound around my waist. Or, maybe, with her thighs spread and my face between them.

Fuck. My parents aren't gonna be home until Monday night, so... It could happen.

She skims her fingers tauntingly over my hardening length and then asks, laughter in her voice, "Does your penis have a name? I read this book where the guy named his dick."

I laugh. "Uh. I haven't named it, but you could, if you want."

I can feel her body shake with laughter. "Hm." She gives me another squeeze and now I know she's purposefully teasing me.

"What did the guy name it in your book?"

"Uh, Ralph, I think."

"That's an ugly name."

"I'm pretty sure he had an ugly dick."

I realize that I should probably flip the sandwiches. I wedge a spatula beneath each one and turn them over, just as her smooth fingertips sneak to the bare, sensitive skin at the waistband of my pants and then slip beneath the fabric.

I growl softly as her fingers curl around my shaft. "What about Richard?" she muses.

"That's the most obvious choice," I observe. This is too much multitasking, focusing on the stove and this ridiculous conversation and her hand on my dick.

She strokes me softly, gently, driving me so fricking insane. When did she become such a tease?

"Or," she says, giggling some more, round and bubbling and cheerful. God I love that sound. "How about... Hamlet?"

It's so stupid that it's perfect. I mean, besides the fact that Hamlet told Ophelia to go join a nunnery and killed her father and drove her mad with grief to the point where she drowned in a river. But, not the point I guess. "Hamlet wants Ophelia to touch him harder."

She complies, massaging me with more pressure, kissing a path across my back from one shoulder to another.

Fuck, just as it's feeling so good she pulls away and says, airily, "I should go get some plates before the sandwiches burn."

"Now Hamlet's very sad," I inform her, groaning disappointedly as she leaves me to swing open the cupboard, grabs a couple plates.

I watch her shirt ride up, giving me a peak of the bottom of her round ass that's covered with skimpy pink lace. Fuck. "Hamlet was a very sad character in general," she quips, shrugging.

I begrudgingly turn off the stove and then slide a sandwich onto each plate as she rests them onto the counter beside the stove.

Then I grab a knife from the wooden block and cut each sandwich into four gooey, crispy triangles.

"Ophelia's very hungry," she says, eyeing the food. "So Hamlet will just have to wait."

She's clearly enjoying herself with this whole Shakespeare thing.

She takes the plates to the island while I fill up two glasses of cold milk and then join her. The sandwiches look so good and my stomach churns hungrily.

Yeah, maybe Hamlet can wait.

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A/N:

I missed you guys. I know I said no more updates but obviously I meant after this one. ;)

Did you ever name your SO's dick?

XOXO Ami

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