tantrayaan

  The first thing Marisol felt was heat.

  Not gentle warmth, but thick, heavy, unmistakably male heat that pressed into her from every direction. Bharath’s arm y heavy across her chest, his forearm wedged firmly beneath the soft undersides of her breasts, lifting them slightly. His palm had settled over one breast in sleep, fingers spyed and possessive, the natural weight of his hand making her nipple harden against his skin even through the thin cotton of her tank top.

  The rest of him surrounded her completely. His chest molded to her back, one powerful thigh slung over both of hers, pinning her in pce. His cock, already fully erect, nestled hot and insistent against the cleft of her ass, the blunt head nudging the thin fabric of her sleep shorts with every slow, unconscious roll of his hips. She could feel the thick ridge of him throbbing in time with his pulse, the heat of it seeping through the yers between them, demanding attention.

  Marisol’s breath caught. Her lips parted on a silent exhale as fresh wetness bloomed between her thighs. She stayed perfectly still, not because she wanted to avoid waking him, but because she wanted to savor every filthy second of feeling him like this.

  She could smell him: warm skin, faint traces of st night’s soap, the musky undertone of arousal that had gathered in the crease of his groin overnight. That scent alone made her clit pulse.

  When had this sweet, awkward, gsses-wearing boy turned into the gravitational center of her entire body? A few weeks ago she had snapped at him for staring too long at her orientation party. Now his sleeping erection was tucked against her ass like it belonged there, and she was clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

  His fingers flexed in his sleep. A zy, reflexive squeeze of her breast. The sudden pressure sent a sharp spike of pleasure straight to her core. Her inner walls fluttered, slickness coating her folds and beginning to dampen the crotch of her shorts.

  She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper.

  Her mother’s warning still lingered somewhere in the back of her mind "Be careful, he seems like a good boy, love can turn ugly fast," but the warning felt ughably distant now. Bharath’s body remembered exactly what it wanted even if his conscious mind was still dreaming. And her own body was answering with a slow, greedy throb that demanded release.

  She shifted her hips, just a fraction, and dragged the length of him along the seam of her ass. The friction made him groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her neck. His cock jerked, smearing more pre-cum against the fabric that separated them.

  Marisol smiled into the pillow, dark and hungry. She rolled her hips again, deliberate this time, grinding back until the head of him nudged right against her entrance through their clothes.

  Another rough groan. His arm tightened around her ribs.

  “Bharath,” she whispered, sliding her fingers along the forearm that caged her. His skin was hot, dusted with fine hair, the muscle beneath rigid with unconscious need.

  He nuzzled deeper into her curls, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Mmm… so soft…”

  “You’re not dreaming about clouds,” she murmured, voice thick. “You’re grinding your cock against my ass like you want to fuck me awake.”

  His breath hitched. Fingers dug into her breast harder. “Safety… protocol… important...”

  She ughed softly, twisted just enough to kiss the stubbled line of his jaw. “You’re my filthy little spoon.”

  “Only yours,” he mumbled, still half-asleep, but the words nded like a brand.

  She turned fully in his arms. His eyes cracked open. They were dark and gssy with lust and sleep. His erection strained obscenely against the front of his boxers, the wet spot at the tip clearly visible now. When she slid her bare thigh between his legs and pressed it firmly against that thick length, his pupils blew wide.

  “Hi,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

  “Hi.” She brushed her lips over the corner of his mouth. “We should get up.”

  “Why?” His hips rocked forward instinctively, dragging his cock along her thigh.

  “Because if we stay here I’m going to ride you until the bed breaks, and then the entire floor will hear us.” She nipped his lower lip. “But the showers are empty at 4:25.”

  His eyes fred. “Shower. With you.”

  She smirked. “Naked. Wet. Now.”

  He scrambled out of bed so fast he nearly tripped. Towel around his waist, no shirt, cock still tenting the fabric outrageously. She threw on his oversized T-shirt - no bra, no panties - and followed him into the dim hallway.

  They barely made it to the communal bathroom before he had her pressed against the tiled wall inside the stall. Hot water cascaded over them. She peeled the soaked shirt over her head; her breasts bounced free, nipples already painfully tight. Bharath stared like a man starved, pupils swallowing the iris.

  “Marisol…” His voice cracked.

  She hooked her fingers in his waistband and shoved the boxers down. His cock sprang free - thick, flushed dark, the head glossy with pre-cum, veins standing out along the shaft. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking once, slowly, feeling him throb and leak against her palm.

  “You want to fuck me?” she asked, voice low.

  “God yes.” His hands were already on her gripping her ass, spreading her, fingertips brushing the slick lips of her cunt.

  She turned, braced her palms on the wall, arched her back. Water streamed down her spine, between her cheeks. She reached back, guided the blunt head of him to her entrance, rubbed it through her folds until he was coated in her arousal.

  “Fuck me hard, mi amor,” she ordered.

  He thrust in one long, relentless stroke.

  The stretch burned deliciously. Her walls cmped down around him, fluttering, greedy. He bottomed out with a choked groan, hips flush to her ass, balls pressed tight against her.

  “Fuck... Mari... you’re so tight...”

  She pushed back, taking him deeper, grinding until the head kissed her cervix. Pleasure-pain sparked behind her eyes.

  He started moving in short, brutal thrusts that spped wetly against her skin, water muffling the sound but not the filthy rhythm. One hand slid up to palm her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple. The other found her clit, rubbing tight, fast circles.

  She bit her forearm to stifle the moan that wanted to tear out of her throat.

  He fucked her like he was trying to imprint himself inside her with deep, possessive strokes that dragged along every sensitive ridge inside her. Her thighs trembled. Her cunt clenched harder with every pass over that swollen spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

  When she came it was sudden and violent. Her inner walls spasmed, and gushed slick down his shaft and thighs, a low, broken whimper escaping despite her best efforts. He followed two thrusts ter, burying himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he emptied inside her in hot, thick spurts. His teeth grazed her shoulder. His fingers dug into her hip hard enough to bruise.

  They stayed locked together, panting, water pounding against their skin until it began to run cold.

  She turned slowly. Kissed him deep and zy, tasting salt and sex and morning.

  “Good morning,” she whispered against his swollen mouth.

  He ughed, wrecked and blissful. “I’m never waking up any other way.”

  They slipped back to the room still damp, still flushed, his hand possessive on the small of her back.

  “Best Wednesday ever?” he murmured.

  She gnced at the clock - 4:58 AM - then at the faint purple marks already blooming on his throat and arms where she’d gripped him.

  “It’s not even five yet,” she said, voice dark with promise. “You better hope tomorrow morning is even filthier.”