[ It probably would have been smarter to just call the whole thing off. She would have understood. They would have stayed friends. His late night shifts at the gas station would still have been interrupted now and then by her presence. It's hard to say how all that may or may not change now — but in the heat of the moment, Andy isn't thinking about it. Because she is impulsive — she is indulgent, when she wants to be — and she likes the way it feels when his fingers dig in, the dull bite of nails juxtaposed to the slow press of his cock as he eases it into her. She likes the strain in his voice — the way he says her name. She likes all of it. And she wants to make this her own for a while.

She takes that last inch or two of him like it already belongs to her, sinking down a little too hard and too fast for how tight she still is. That rock of her hips brings them flush together with no where else to go, and the next exhale that escapes her is just faintly unsteady. ]

That's how it usually is with these things. [ Her low wryness is rough around the edges. ] Or is it just that you've never imagined what it would feel like, being inside me?