Blind Carnival

Quick on the Draw

"Are we having a quickie?" she gleefully inquires. "I've never had a quickie! At least I don't recall."

She ogles his chest, and her mouth goes dry. Seriously, she still thinks a tattoo that says Olivia, John's eyes are up here! would be a very good idea. Right there, on his pectoral muscle, next to this wonderful valley of his chest hair, going down in a wide onto his stomach, and onwards. Or is it downwards?

"Why a quickie?" he asks distractedly, jerking his belt.

"You're on your lunch!"

"I'm staying! If you're OK with it," he adjusts his eager statement.

The zipper on his denim whizzes.

"I'm OK with it!" She nods enthusiastically, without tearing her eyes off his hands. "Do you want to go to your place after this, though?" He hums questioningly. She's staring at his crotch. "Well, Mr Thornton? Allergy? Cat? Sneezing?"

Apparently, she's forgotten how the English language works. That might be a problem. She seems to vaguely recall being a writer.

"Oh. I took Claritin in the car."

Trousers go down, Olivia's heartbeat goes up!

He lunges ahead, and covers her with his heavy, scorching body. Her mind goes blank. Finally, the bliss of no narration! Just John, and skin on skin, and yum!

The two of them are 'groping' and 'snogging.' Somehow none of the pompous language of her writing works here. It's a good old copping off session - the kind seventeen year olds partake in when the adults step out of the house.

"So, do you want a quickie?" he purrs into her ear, and then catches the helix between his teeth.

Her hips hop up, and she deftly wraps her legs around his waist and grinds the erection in his pants.

And then she comes. It's unexpected, sharp, and lasts twice as long as any other climax she's ever had without a penetration. It's all the way up, not just - as she so decorously sometimes writes - the bundle of nerves. Her whole womanhood constricts in a sweet spasm, she makes a long mewling sound, and rolls from under him. Somehow her body decides it's going to enjoy this fully - and in solitude. She rolls on her stomach and rides the wave. Apparently, it is a 'wave' alright, and the ride can take more than a minute. She pressed her forehead into the sheet and is panting, her eyes squeezed tightly.

"Liv?"

He's snorting and sounds very smug. Let's face it, he has every right. It's his smell and warmth and his skin under her hands that made this marvel possible - and his cock pressing in just the right spot.

"If you say that this quickie was indeed a quickie, I'll kick you out of my bed," she weakly whines.

He's now laughing openly.

Apparently, this pregnancy myth is indeed true. She hasn't read up on pregnancy so far. She wants to see the doctor first. And she's blocked the memories from last time. The only myths of the pregnancy shag wonders she remembers are the ones she's researched for that cosy mystery novel that she never wrote.

"I thought something was different." She groans and rolls on her back. There are pretty purple dots dancing in front of her eyes. Her whole body is still buzzing, and her toes are curled. "I noticed yesterday in the shower. And this morning. It was less spectacular than just now, but I definitely got there quicker than normal."

His - very interested - face appears in her field of vision.

"And how was it? The shower?" he asks in a very meaningful tone.