Amber orgasm seemed to never end: the waves just kept on coming, intense and all-reaching. Damn it, she never came like this with her one-night stands. Eric seemed to follow her, his groan reverberating against her chest, his hips pushing down harder but not faster. Amber watched, breathing deep. He was consumed, taken somewhere far away. She'd done that to him. Her. Warmth and pride flooded through her.

Amber was laughing quietly by the time he pressed his lips to hers, his body giving way and lowering. Filled with the satisfaction of orgasm and smug to have given him the same pleasure, she couldn't find fault with anything, not even the sudden flip of positions during sex. She hummed into the kiss, languidly stroking Eric’s back.

They'd have to move soon. She couldn't sleep with him lying on her chest like this, but for a while longer it'd be okay. "'S'good," Amber murmured. She had to be quiet. The reasons why seemed so distant and unimportant, but anyway she didn’t feel like making much in noise, except maybe snoring.

Still. Amber stretched her arms up, her hand brushing against the headboard from her teenager years. Beyond Eric's face and shoulders she could see her old chest of drawers with that huge mirror; she knew that if she turned her head, she'd see the ancient checkered curtain covering her window. It was impossible not to remember where they were. Who was around. Frowning, Amber shifted, suddenly unsettled by just how naked and damp she was against Eric.