He buries his face in my neck.
His hips stutter – once, twice – and then he's pushing deep, holding there, and I feel his c**k pulse inside me. Not the violent jets of Donor Three, but something sweeter. Rhythmic contractions that seem to go on and on, his c*m adding to the flood already inside me.
"Thank you," he whispers against my skin. "Thank you for letting me be part of this."
He holds my face in his hands as the last of his orgasm fades. Looks into my eyes with such genuine tenderness that I feel tears prick my own.
"I hope it works," he says softly. "I really do."
He withdraws slowly, carefully, and I feel the loss more acutely than I expected.
By the time he's dressed and gone, something has shifted inside me.
I've stopped feeling strange about any of this.
This is just bo
