She’s slick and smooth in your grasp, and the way her skin slides against yours makes the insecure part of you afraid she might slip right out of your arms and disappear. It’s only been a few weeks now. You’re not entirely convinced yet that this isn’t all a dream. Or a bump on the head. Or a hallucination.
The ache in your groin makes you grit your teeth. She’s so sweet. So sweet and sexy and sleek and she’s panting with that innocent little whimper but her round ass is rubbing and circling your dick in a manner that is far too adept to be innocent.
“Mulder—ugh—more,” she growls as you drag your fingers roughly down her chest, over her breasts and down her belly to the springy soaked curls between her thighs. Your erection is pressed between her butt cheeks and she keeps trying to arch her back to slip you inside, but that would require that you let her move away a little. You don’t wanna.
God how you wish you had known. You wish you had known the first time you touched yourself as a teenager and cried after you came because you felt so disgusting. You wish you had known the night you had your first one night stand. You wish you had known the first time Phoebe humiliated you in bed. You wish you had known when you said yes to Diana’s proposal.
You couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have known in a million years that despite all the twisted dark things inside you this beautiful, remarkable woman—for some inexplicable reason—decided you were worthy of her love.
You can’t fathom it. So instead you never let her go.