The lewd slap of their bodies was punctuated by grunts and moans from both of them as they strained toward each other. Her legs spread wider, her knees rising to clasp his ribcage as her hips tilted up, her body urging him to go deeper, harder. He shifted his weight to one arm, reaching the other hand down between them. This time there were no teasing, gentle circles—he went to town on her clit, rubbing and tugging and pulling until she arched off the bed with a scream, her body taut, then she broke, shuddering and gasping as she came, her pussy milking him with rhythmic pulls, and he let himself off the chain, hammering into her until he found his own release.

His arms gave out and he collapsed on top of her, his cock jerking inside her, her cunt pulsing around him. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep, still buried inside her. But she was crying softly under him, her body still trembling from the aftermath of her orgasm and whatever emotion the impromptu scene had brought up.

He pushed himself up to see her face, wet with tears and so lovely it took his breath. “Hello, fofa.”

“You asshole,” she replied, and hiccupped, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. She balled up a fist and punched him in the shoulder.

The awkward angle meant she couldn’t put much into it, and her fist skidded off his sweaty skin. She cried harder, and he felt the first trickle of alarm. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she sobbed, and hit him again. “But I had a plan, and now it’s all shot to hell.”

He folded his lips to hide his smile. “Aw, fofa, I’m sorry.” He kissed her softly, cheeks, lips, eyes. Her cute little nose. “What was your plan?”

“Forget it.” She hiccupped again. “It’s ruined.”

“I bet we can fix it.” He carefully rolled them to the side, sighing with regret when he slipped out of her, and cuddled her close. “Tell me what it was, and we’ll figure it out together.”

“It doesn’t count after sex,” she wailed, and buried her face in his neck.

“What doesn’t count after sex?” he asked, stroking her back to soothe as he frantically wracked his brain. What the hell was she talking about?

“Telling you I love you,” she sobbed, and his hand froze on her back.

“What?”

“It doesn’t count if I tell you I love you after sex,” she repeated. “Everybody knows that.”

“Everybody, huh?” he said, fighting to keep his voice even as he resumed stroking. Joy was like a bright, beaming light inside him, bathing everything in a warm glow.

“Yes, everybody.” Her breath hitched. “I was going to tell you over dinner.”

“Yeah?” He smiled into her hair, so fucking happy he could barely contain it. “What were you going to make?”