Addicted

Cover Addicted
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Genres: Fiction
Which I suppose is appropriate, after an orgasm like that. For a while I’m sort of concerned that it’s actually killed him, and then I get close and can feel his breath ghosting against my face. I put my hand on his back, which is going up and down, the way some great heavy beast’s would – slow, and ultimately reassuring.
Everything about this is reassuring, even though it probably shouldn’t be. I’m used to being somewhat disappointed by the sudden unconsciousness of my sex partners, and can’t
...quite pinpoint why I’m not disappointed here.
Because I’ve had around eight thousand orgasms to his one, perhaps? The scoreboard is looking pretty top-heavy in my favour. And besides … it’s sort of nice to just be here with him, in calmness and quiet. It’s nice to look at his face without any self-consciousness – no thoughts about whether he’s noticed me staring, or what he thinks of my probable adoration.
Because I do, of course. Adore him, I mean.
How could I not? Even in sleep, he’s utterly lovely.
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