Readers Mail: For one week, I decided to SLEEP with my boyfriend whenever he wanted (Here’s what happened)

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I was wet for him, more than usual — it was all the waiting. He felt like a stud, I could tell, as I crawled across the bed towards him, still nakked from the morning s3x, and climbed on top of him. I rode him without even unbuttoning his pale blue work shirt. I wondered if it would smell like me for the rest of the day.

I didn’t go home after he returned to work. Usually, I would have let myself out long ago, gone home and showered and have several hours of work at the corner coffee shop under my belt. I used his shower and didn’t bother dressing, simply draping his t-shirt over me while I helped myself to his much fancier computer. I had to save time somewhere, and he was probably just going to undress me again when he got home anyway. (He did).

Tuesday morning I told him I was going to go home and work, and that I would make dinner for him that night if he wanted to come over. I wanted to keep going with my promise, but I also needed to get some work done so I figured the added promise of a home cooked meal would be enough to tide him over through the day. I made a lasagna so I would have plenty of time to get ready after I was done the cooking.

I showered and sprayed perfume in all his favorite places. I dressed in lingerie instead of clothes and then when he texted me that he was leaving work, I tried something silly I’d read in Cosmo once. I was kind of s3xed out and I needed to get back in the mood so I put on some relaxing music and laid in bed. Without trying to get off or do anything other than to relax.

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I placed my v1brator inside me and thought about him — again, nothing too intense, just kind of opening myself up for the evening. As robotic and forced as the action seemed at first, when I put it away and got up to pour wine for dinner, I was in an entirely different mood. I wasn’t tired anymore, I was desirous, the knock at the door was one of promise instead of obligation. I kissed him, open-mouth, in the stairwell, surprising even myself with my unwillingness to even walk up the stairs before I touched him.

I was already ready, already wanting him and he, in turn, was turned on by my suddenly elevated interest. I wanted to feel his weight on me, and I placed my hands on his lower back, pulling him into me and feeling his jeans rub against the thin fabric of my negligee.

I turned, finally, to lead him up the stairs to my kitchen and felt his hands left the back of the slip and grab my a$$ fully in his hands. I almost couldn’t keep walking, the needing-him sensation inside me about doubled with that touch.

While we ate, his hands never stopped touching me — rubbing my thigh, pulling me into him by wrapping his arm around my shoulder, brushing my hair back from my face. It was, oddly, an extremely romantic meal we both prolonged because the tension building between us was so fun to play with. Every touch was becoming unbearable.

After dinner, we didn’t go to the couch or pretend we were going to do an activity for a bit. We went to my bedroom. We kissed like we hadn’t ki$sed in forever — long, deep, high-school ki$ses. He walked me back to my bed and laid me down beneath him, kissing my collarbone and murmuring sweet nothings between breaths. He slid a finger inside me and held his face above mine, watching my reaction, cherishing my reaction.

He told me I was beautiful, that he loved watching me respond to him.His confidence at this point was intoxicating. He knew I was on board with whatever he wanted to do and instead of it turning him into a greedy tyrant, it relaxed him, it opened him up. I felt closer to him than ever before. When he pulled me to the edge of the bed and entered me, it was slower and more lu$t-filled than usual. This wasn’t get-it-over-with s3x.

This was vacation s3x on a Tuesday night. He took a pillow and I obligingly lifted my hips so he could place it underneath them and return to pushing himself into me, deeper now. He places his forearms next to my arms as he leaned over me, maximizing our skin-to-skin contact.

Convinced now that this sex session would be leisurely he pulled out of me and bent down, flicked his tongue over my cl1t as my eyes rolled back into my head and I squirmed before him. I wondered if he could taste himself in me? His finger was inside me again, swirling around, feeling the width of me while he ki$sed and flicked me on the outside. He st1mulated me all at once, like an expert. Every er0genous zone was on fire.

I heard myself begging him to f*ck before I realized that was even what I wanted — and he was on top of me again, thrusting into me like I asked, like I needed, filling me, driving me over the edge. For once, I came before he did — in a hot sticky dizzy wave that came roaring out of me. He came next, catapulted into it by me spasming around his d1ck.

I felt his heat inside me and his breathing slow, finally. Lying supine next to my breathless match, I couldn’t believe there were five more days of this.

The plan is to sleep with him. It’s been just two days and I have realized I can never live without him. I have felt closer to him than ever before. He is the love of my life.

Editors Note: Ghpage.com receives hundreds of emails from our readers. We go through them and decide which one is worth sharing. It’s strictly an unedited email from our reader who wants to share his love life with other readers. You can equally share your story with Ghpage.com by sending your story to info@ghpage.com

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