“I’m naked.”
“Me too.”
“What did we do last night?” he groggily asked.
I shook my head and replied, “I’m really not sure.”
He reached down and provided his dick with a little crank and said, “I’m hard as a rock.”
“That makes two of us, but maybe for different reasons.” He was hard because he probably had to piss, and I was hard because I was horny.
He sat up, found part of the white cotton sheet, and covered his cock and balls. “I can’t remember a thing.”
I told him I remembered dinner, the Rothshire Red wine, our walk to the cottage, and slipping into bed together. “The rest is a blur.”
“Do you think we fucked?”
I had hoped we did. But, most likely, we didn’t. Neither of our torsos or mouths were coated in come. Plus, my ass didn’t hurt from his night-pounding, and God knew that it would have definitely been stinging if he had decided to use his dick on it. Answering him, I shook my head, and said, “I’m really horny. That tells me we didn’t fuck.”