I’m determined to warm her up.
“Logan, stop,” she giggles as I started nibbling on her neck. I hear people walking and talking behind me as they leave the ceremony and go off to find their cars, but I don’t care. I’ve been desperate to touch my sexy graduate all morning, and I not only had to sit through one graduation ceremony but two, and now that we’ve finally escaped the crowd and our parents, I can’t wait a minute longer.
“I can’t stop,” I breathed in her ear. “You’re too fucking sexy right now.”
“In my giant black graduation robe?”
“Don’t forget the hat, Cass.”
She finally succeeds in pushing my hands down and creating enough space between us that she can straighten the aforementioned hat and smooth down the robe. “You need to wait until we’re home,” she scolds. “We both got accepted into graduate programs here, remember? We will still have to look these professors in the eye next fall, which will be a little awkward if they see you drilling me right after the commencement ceremony.”
“Fine,” I sigh. And even though my entire groin aches, I help her readjust her garb and I don’t even fuss once. I do pull her close and growl in her ear, “You better be ready when we walk through that door, though. I’ve waited too long to have you already.”
With a quick look around us, Devi takes my hand and guides it under her gown. She’s not wearing any underwear and so there’s no barrier between my fingers and her flesh. She’s so wet right now, so slick, and I groan at the thought of pushing myself inside there. “I’m very ready for you,” she says. “I’d let you fuck me right now if I wasn’t worried my faculty advisor would see.”
“Like he’s hasn’t watched every single one of our scenes already,” I grumble. But I stop teasing her wet folds and step away, grateful my own graduation gown hides my insistent erection. “Home, Cass. Now.”
* * *
The drive to our little Travis Heights bungalow is mercifully swift, and I have Devi out of the car and against our front door in almost no time at all. It makes me smile against her mouth as I think of all the times we’ve come home this way over the last four years, practically undressing each other before we could even unlock the door. Especially that first year—the transition from fucking for hours every day to listening to lectures on introductory physics and early American lit was torture. Most days I had to text Devi and hunt her down on campus in order to fuck her in a conveniently empty bathroom or in an abandoned corner of the library, and even when I started to acclimate to a porn-civilian’s life, I still found myself craving her almost constantly. I left porn in order to be with her, but now that I was here, I found that spending time together was harder than ever. We were both busy with classes and homework, and we no longer had long stretches of our day that we could devote to marathon sex sessions. It didn’t take me long to figure out that the only way I could live with that is if we instead devoted long sessions of our nights to making love.
Which we did. Very happily.
There were other strange parts about my new life. For one thing, although I knew my classmates would be a decade younger than me, I definitely didn’t expect them all to recognize Logan O’Toole on sight. I still get covert high-fives from the boys and lots of batted eyelashes from the girls, and at least once a day, I get some person asking me for sex advice or an autograph or a date. The date offers are the hardest to deal with, not because I’m even the littlest bit tempted to date anyone other than Devi, but because I’m so laughably not tempted that it’s hard to be kind when I explain to these girls that I’m not interested. I’m sure they’re all nice and smart, but I left a life populated by the dirtiest, prettiest women imaginable to be with Devi; I’m certainly not going to be lured away by a psych major from North Dakota.
The thing is, when I fell in love with Devi, I realized what it is to look up at the stars, and once you’ve seen the stars, it’s impossible to unsee them, to go back to staring at the ground. Devi sometimes says the same thing to me, or at least I think it’s the same thing—something about different kinds of milk—but the gist is similar. There’s something that happens when you meet someone you love, something alchemical and chaotic and wonderful. That doesn’t mean it’s been easy—there have been growing pains for both of us transitioning out of porn, there have been fights about money and sex and jealousy. There have been times when loving each other—choosing each other over and over again—means repeated sacrifice and the occasional bout of suffering.
The reward, though, is worth it. Every fucking time.
Like right now, when Devi’s burning a path along my jaw with scorching, desperate kisses and I’ve finally managed to unlock the door and we both tumble into the house. She looks at me with a naughty gleam in her eye and asks, “Want to get the camera?”
“Hell yes, I do,” I groan and peel my body away from hers to grab the handheld. I knew when I left L.A. that I never wanted to perform in any scenes that weren’t with Devi, and I wasn’t sure how interested she would be in ever getting in front of a camera with me again, given all that had happened. But that very first night we were together after I came to Austin she begged me to take dirty pictures of her, and then Star-Crossed blew up so big that Vida was begging us for something like it, anything, and that evolved into us having a long-running series under the auspices of Vida’s company. It’s turned into one of her biggest moneymakers and the most successful thing I’ve ever done. In a strange twist of fate, Devi and I are more famous for porn than we were when we did it all the time. People are hungry for what we show, I guess—real chemistry, real pleasure, real affection and respect. Sometimes we post edited and cohesive scenes, sometimes we just put up raw footage, and sometimes we have live sessions for people to watch—but it’s only ever with the two of us.
Just the way we like it.
And whenever I think that I miss my old life, whenever I hear about Tanner’s fancy cinematography jobs, or whenever I see Raven winning industry award after industry award, I remind myself of those final days at home, when I was so miserable and itchy in my own skin that I could hardly stand to be alive anymore. I’m happy for Tanner and I’m even weirdly happy for Raven, because even if I don’t always like her, she works hard and she’s earned every bit of her success. But I know that life, that world, could have never made me happy in the end, not like it does for them.
My happiness is right here in front me, teasingly unzipping her gown, and suddenly I don’t have the patience to finish the more elaborate camera set-up I had in mind. I put the handheld on a tripod, plug in a few cords and click a few buttons, and then the feed is going straight to our website, live for anybody who’s on there now but also archived for later.
I unzip my own robe but leave it on, and while I’m at it, I also unbutton my slacks and free my dick, which after a full morning of craving and wanting, is thick and dark. I sit in a chair in front of the camera and pat my thigh with one hand while I stroke my cock with the other.
“Come to Logan, baby,” I say, and she doesn’t hesitate, pushing her robe off her shoulders and tugging off her dress as she comes closer. All that’s left on her body is her high heels and her graduation cap, and this is pretty much one of the biggest fantasies I’ve had since high school. I’m praying right now that I can last long enough to do it justice.
Devi effortlessly straddles me on the chair and then she’s slowly lowering herself onto my waiting erection. She’s already so fucking wet for me, but even so, it’s a tight fit and her mouth parts in a gasp when the flared edge of my crown finally breaches her entrance.
“Such a good girl putting it inside you,” I praise her. “Such a good girl.”
Her cheeks and lips are dark-rose with her characteristic sex blush, and her pupils are wide with lust. She slides down another inch, and my toes are curling in my shoes, she’s so fucking tight around me, and then with another one of her adorable gasps, she’s fully impaled on me.
I lean back a little, adm
iring the way her plump little clit rubs against me, admiring the way that greedy pussy starts moving and grinding down on me right away. We both watch for a minute, our eyes on the place where we’re joined, where the thick base of my cock stretches her folds.
“Bounce on it,” I tell her. “Make it feel good.”
She eagerly obeys, bracing her knees on the sides of my thighs and then working herself up and down in fast, hard strokes. My head drops backward to rest against the back of the chair, and I hear my graduation cap fall to the floor. I don’t care. Instead, I lace my hands behind my neck and watch Devi work, her tits bouncing and her stomach tight and her eyes closed in bliss. And when I feel my balls drawing up, I grab her hips and stop her, changing her movements from the fast strokes to the slow, grinding rolls that I know will get her off. Within seconds, she’s falling apart on top of me, the tassel from her cap swinging as her head drops forward and her body shakes.
“That’s it,” I murmur to her. “Give it all to me.”
And she does, her fingernails digging into my biceps as the quivering accelerates, peaks, and then finally, finally subsides. After she comes down, I start thrusting up underneath her again, but she stops me with a smile and a hand on my chest.
“One minute,” she says. “I want to give you a graduation present.”
I groan. “I love presents, babe, but is now really the time?”
But she’s already climbing off me, walking into the kitchen, leaving my cock still hard and aching. But then she returns with a medium-sized tube, and my face splits into a grin. That’s lube, and I think I know where this is going, and I love graduation day! I should really try to graduate more often.
Biting her lip in an expression of naughtiness so delicious that I want to devour it, Devi spreads some of the thick, clear lube on my cock. It’s cold and I give a little shiver until she curls her strong fingers around my length and gives me a few tight, slow strokes.
“God, I fucking love you,” I say hoarsely.
“And I love you. Now finger me.”
Those should be our wedding vows, right there.
I spread a dab of the lubricant on my forefinger and do as I’m told, teasing the pleated rim between her cheeks, rubbing and pressing and gradually coaxing it open for me. And after I can easily work a second finger in and out, she crawls back on the chair and positions herself so that my tip presses against her back entrance. I watch her face as she guides my cock into her ass, the intense concentration as my crown passes through the tight rings of muscle at the beginning, the gut-deep pleasure-pain as she lowers herself farther down. Her channel is a tight, hot furnace around me, and the moment she finally buries me and her perfect ass comes to rest on my thighs, I decide I'm in heaven.
She opens her eyes. Goose bumps pepper her skin and a small sheen of sweat glows on her face and chest. We do the occasional anal scene for our series with Vida and sometimes anal just for ourselves, but it's not such a frequent occurrence that Devi’s blithely expert at it. Instead, she squirms and groans trying to find just the right angle to ride me, she sweats and shivers every time she moves her ass up and down my cock. It's a constant negotiation between pleasure and pain, and the moment she wins and hones in on the pleasure, she becomes luminescent and beautiful and wild.
I reach up and stroke her face, moving my hands to her hair where I pluck out the bobby pins holding her graduation cap in place. And then I take her hat off and toss it to the floor. (The high heels I let her keep on, for obvious reasons.)
My hands are everywhere, gentle and soothing, rubbing her tense thighs and caressing the full teardrops of her breasts and cradling her flushed face. “Logan,” she says, and it’s not so much a word as an exhalation, as a prayer.
“Devi,” I exhale back. “Come here.”
I help her lean forward into me, her naked chest pressed against the white button-down I wore under my graduation robe, and then I tip her face up to mine and kiss her. Rubbing her back and smoothing her hair, stroking her arms and legs, I languorously explore her mouth, give her the kind of slow, luxurious kisses that a queen like my Cass deserves.
And out of all the dirty things we do, out of all the rough, kinky sex we have, this right here is my favorite. The kind of sex that combines dirty and deep, raunch and romance. I know it seems like a contradiction, or maybe even an impossibility, that anal sex could be romantic, but it’s an act that requires so much more patience and so much more communication than almost anything else I can think of. It forces you to slow down and look your partner in the face, examine how they’re feeling and what they’re thinking. To be done right, it requires an incredible amount of trust, and what could possibly be more romantic than that?
My lips slide over hers and our tongues press and twist together. Our breathing unites and our heartbeats pound the same heavy, hot rhythm, and we move together, rising and falling, pushing and pulling. I reach between us and start kneading her clit with the pad of my thumb, and that’s how we come—together—kissing and grinding and panting. And when my climax stabs through my balls like a hot knife of ecstasy, when I feel the deep contractions of her own orgasm squeezing my dick, I hold her tight and breathe her name against her lips,
Devi
Devi
Devi,
until we both come down, until I feel her body ease and slump against mine, until my cock stops pulsing inside of her. I lift her off my dick and place her back on my lap. It occurs to me that I’m probably going to have to change into a new pair of slacks for dinner, but I don’t care.
“That was a hell of a present, Cass,” I murmur into her hair.
Her face is pressed against my chest, and I can both feel and hear her happy humming deep in her throat.
“Are you purring, little kitten?”
She nods lazily, still humming.
I glance at the clock—five in the evening. We’re supposed to meet our parents for a big family dinner at seven, which is when I planned on giving Devi her graduation present. But her present to me was so amazing, and honestly, I’d give anything to this naked goddess curled up on my lap right now.
“I have something else to make you purr,” I say, standing up and resettling her on the chair. She looks perfect, her hair mussed and her lips swollen, wearing nothing but her heels. I button myself back up and jog over to the small alcove that serves as my office, where I open a filing cabinet and pull out a little box I stashed behind all the files.
I also leave the camera running. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for years, and I want to capture every naked, sex-rumpled second of it.
My hands start to shake and my pulse starts to race, my heart somehow hammering a frantic beat in my chest and choking my throat all at once. But I manage to walk over to the chair and hand her the box as casually as possible, given the circumstances.
She smiles up at me. “Logan, this better not be expensive.”
“I only had to pawn off like half of our sex toys to buy it, it’s fine.”
She laughs and turns her attention back to the package, which is a small square box with a massive bow on top. She unties the giant silk ribbon and it falls into her lap in sinuous loops. And then she opens the lid to see what’s inside.
A ring box.
The moment it hits her, her eyes snap up to me, but I’m already on one knee in front of her.
“Devi Daryani,” I say, my voice trembling a little, “I love you more than Manjun loved Layla. I love you more than I love anything else in this life. I know you wanted to wait until we were completely done with school to move forward, but Devi, I can’t wait another second. I want to be your husband. I want you to be my wife. I want to be loving you and giving you orgasms until we’re too frail to get out of our beds in the nursing home.”
She blinks those long eyelashes rapidly, tears shimmering in her amber eyes.
“Will you marry me?” I ask, realizing I hadn’t actually said the words yet. “Will you let me be your husband?”
<
br /> She takes a deep, choking breath and opens up the box. I see the reflection of the diamond in her eyes. For the first time, my vague fears crystalize into an extremely concrete and immediate terror that she’ll say no. That she wants to wait or that she doesn’t want to ever get married or, worse, that she doesn’t love me enough to bind herself to me.
“Please marry me, Devi,” I say anxiously. “Please say yes.”
She eases the ring out of its box and then she looks up, those tears finally spilling over and tracing streaks down her face.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I’ll marry you.”
My chest expands into that hugely dizzying big feeling, and I collapse in relief, my head falling onto her lap. “Thank God,” I mumble into the silken skin of her thighs. “I would have died if you said no.”
She runs her fingers through my hair. “As if anyone could say no to you.”
“You did once,” I remind her, nuzzling her thighs.
She parts them for me, half instinct and half banked desire from earlier. “But you had to know that I was still yours, even when I left,” she says.
I kiss my way up her thigh to her pussy, giving her clit a gentle, lingering nibble. “I didn’t know,” I say, pausing in between words to taste her. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“I think I was yours from the moment I first saw you,” she admits, shivering as my tongue finds a sensitive spot. “And that’s why I wanted you to be all mine.”
“Forever,” I say, pulling back for a minute. I take the ring and slide it onto her finger, the vintage rose gold and princess diamond beautiful and brilliant against her skin. And then I move my hand to the nape of her neck and pull her into a long kiss. Our lips move together and my ring sparkles on her hand, and the world is stunning—magnificent and mysterious and big.
Big and real.
And then Devi is pulling away, using her hand with its new ring to find the thick bulge in my slacks. “Fuck me like a porn star, Logan O’Toole.”
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