“Do you have anything that can kill me?!” she spat out in-between breaths escaping flared nostrils, her hand (already) at her (wet) pussy lips and awkwardly tugging at the ring of the condom that had slipped off me and stayed in her.

I, too, was catching my breath, our bodies close, her right leg folded up and knee (sharply) pressing into my chest with her weight on her back and mine on my side. I had felt the latex (slippery-ly) slipping off the quicker I moved my hips, and the deeper I thrust into her. That it slipped off (so) completely was a surprise, my cock feeling suddenly cool with wetness exposed to the air. That it stayed (so) deep within her tight pussy was not.

“No,” I said (with a grunt more than a response), already reaching towards the open drawer.

She needed no other word, flinging the condom somewhere off the bed, reaching back down and positioning my cock between her pussy lips before I could reach another inch. I stopped at once. Paused (arm outstretched), feeling nothing outside the grip of her fingers just below the head and the soft skin parting just before the pull of her body into mine, I closed my eyes and let everything go, the wetness and warmth swallowing me whole, devouring any last reserve, consuming sense after sense until there was absolutely nothing left.