The One With The Night Of Seven Times

By: Jana~

Chapter Six

XXX

--There was no real reason as to why. Completely exhausted, she should have been able to sleep straight through till dawn’s light and beyond. Maybe she sensed him beside her. Maybe his presence wedged into her subconscious, bringing her slowly into awareness.

Whatever the reason, Monica’s eyes fluttered open, her eyes darting to take in her surroundings, and to remind herself of where she was, before eventually landing on the man sleeping beside her.

A faint smile crept onto her face as she noticed his slightly parted lips, his deep and peaceful breathing, his eyes shifting under his closed lids, and a need that should have been sated, but surprisingly wasn’t, began to grow inside her as she watched him.

Carefully, not wanting to wake him just yet, she inched the covers off him, pausing for a moment when he stirred slightly as the cool air hit his skin, to reveal the loosely draped towel that was still around his waist. First shrugging out of her robe, she cautiously pinched the edge of the white terrycloth material, slowly moving it away from him to expose his sleep-induced erection, her heartbeat quickening at what she was about to do.

Reaching past him, she snuck her hand into the box of condoms, retrieving one and opening it with as little noise as possible, hoping to retain the element of surprise, but when she began rolling it onto him, and contact was made, the hope faded.

“MmmmMonica,” he moaned, still appearing to be at least half asleep as he asked, “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” she returned with a grin, then quickly climbed on top of him, wriggling against him to be sure he was in position. When she could feel him against her opening, she eased down onto him, which prompted him to immediately reach out for her, his hands on her hips to help her, his eyes slowly opening to confirm visually what was happening.

“Oh, God,” he whispered hoarsely, thrusting up to meet her downward motion, digging his fingers just shy of painfully into her skin as waves of pleasure washed over him.

“We fell asleep,” she whispered, smiling down on him when he smirked in response.

“Thank you, for waking me up,” he said with a sigh, adding in slight jest, “And thank you for how you woke me up. Come over in the morning, any day of the week and wake me up.”

“I thought you might like it,” she murmured, the grin she wore growing before it faded completely, their combined efforts causing the familiar need for release to bombard her senses.

“That’s an understatement,” he quipped, moaning suddenly as another wave of arousal crashed over him, inching him closer to the edge of climax.

“God, Chandler, this feels so good,” she groaned breathlessly, her head hanging limply as she leaned forward, steadying her off sense of balance by placing her hands on his chest, distributing only some of her weight to her arms.

“Yes,” he hissed, urging her in a low, passion-filled voice, “You can do it, Mon. Talk to me.”

It wasn’t planned. She had no idea, before she’d said it, that she was even going to, let alone have anything further to add, but his words of encouragement somehow gave her the nerve to try. “I love the feel of you, deep inside me, filling me, your fingertips pressing into me, pulling me down hard onto you.”

Moaning her name, panting unevenly, he asked of her, “Let me be on top. I want to do things I can’t from this position.”

“No,” she told him in a firm whisper. “I get to be in control this time. I like having you helpless beneath me,” she added clamping her inner muscles down on him, purposefully, trying to spur a reaction in him; he near-growled in response, dropping his hands to his side, lifelessly accepting what she was doing to him.

“Fuck,” he cursed breathlessly, adding almost pleadingly, “God, yes, please…”

The sense of power she had over him caused a proud but slight smirk to appear on her otherwise intense expression, the thrill it gave her prompting her to pick up the pace before squeezing him again, her orgasm climbing closer as she saw the look of sheer ecstasy dance across his face.

“You like that?” she asked seductively, needlessly, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear him respond in the deep, husky way he did when he was teetering on the brink of release.

“Yeah. God, yeah, I do.” He didn’t disappoint. His tone was thick and breathy, and just the sound of it brought her to the brink as well.

Clenching hard again, she sent him over, her orgasm following when he pushed up hard at the same time grabbing her hips again and pulling her down, grinding against her clit almost roughly.

They both moaned, their blended voices closely resembling harmony, until hers broke away as it turned into a strangled cry of relief. Pleasantly but utterly exhausted, she collapsed on top of him, a contented sigh escaping as she felt his arms wrap around her.

“You’re better at the talking than you think you are,” he whispered, after several silent minutes had passed and their breathing had returned to normal. “You just lack confidence,” he added, “Which is weird, cause, you’re so not the type to lack it.”

“Yeah, well…” she muttered, trailing off as she climbed off of him, snagging her robe from the bed and slipping into it before distractedly attempting to tidy the nightstand of the clutter that had accumulated.

Watching her curiously for a moment, confused by her actions, he finally asked, “What are you doing?”

“Just, straightening up,” she answered; the tone was meant to sound breezy, but Chandler could hear past the façade.

The champagne bottle and used cups thrown away, the new, still-wrapped cups and the box of condoms tucked neatly in the top drawer, she brushed her hands together as if done, or pleased with what she had accomplished, but the odd expression on her face remained as she just stared at the table she had just cleaned, lending further to his suspicions that he had somehow upset her.

“Monica?” He called her name like a question, hoping she would open up to him, but when she didn’t, and continued to stand beside the bed, motionless except for crossing her arms, he asked her, “You won’t talk to me?”

Sighing, she admitted, “It’s a sore spot with me.”

“What is?” he asked, his brow furrowing, wanting to understand but needing more information to be able to.

“It’s the only thing I lack confidence in,” she told him, exasperated, but at herself, not with him, which she tried to convey wordlessly as she looked over at him.

“Well, ok,” he replied, struggling to find a way to help, or somehow make her feel better, “But, that’s ok, isn’t it? I mean, everybody lacks confidence in something, right?”

Clearly, that was of zero comfort to her, he realized, as she only made a slight scoffing sound in return, then muttered, “I suppose.”

“Ok,” he then suggested, somewhat changing tactics, “Confidence, is earned though, right? Through practice, usually! If it bothers you so much, that it bothers you, just, practice it! Practice the whole, dirty talk thing, till you’re no longer uncomfortable with it! Then, it’ll be like second nature, therefore giving you confidence!”

“Yeah, but, who would I practice with?” she asked, her gaze shifting from the table, to him briefly, and then to the floor. “I don’t have a boyfriend, remember?”

“Practice in front of a mirror,” he answered, laughing when she squinted her eyes back at him incredulously. “Ok,” he amended his advice, “Then, practice it in your head. While you’re masturbating or something.” When she blushed and looked away, he laughed again, then stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Come back to bed, ok? It’ll be dawn soon,” he added, “And we should really get a few minutes of sleep, before all the chaos of the day begins, ya’know?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, allowing him to lead her, enjoying his ‘take charge’ attitude as he stripped her of her robe and encouraged her to join him. Climbing into bed and under the covers, she whispered, “Thanks,” after they settled in, and he smiled as he pulled her tighter to him and kissed her hair.

“Hey, what are friends for?” he returned with a light, easygoing tone, pleased with himself that he was able to help, and move her past what, he could only assume, was the start of some kind of depression over the matter.

“Besides cracking jokes and stealing food?” she asked playfully, smirking when she heard his soft chuckle.

Recognizing the lilt to her voice, aware of what she was trying to do, he shot back jokingly, “Hey! I pay you back! Most months.”

Bantering with him was one of the things she loved about their friendship. He was sarcastically funny, and quick on his feet, which made the game all the more fun, in her opinion. She had definitely come to the conclusion, through the years, that he felt the same way.

“Most months,” she repeated, adding, “Emphasis on most.”

“Yeah, well, I have a Joey to support,” he quipped, then added, “Besides, you love being the hostess and you know it. You were practically going through withdrawals, when we had your apartment, and everyone was hanging out there instead of over at your place.”

“You make it sound like an addiction,” she laughed, bringing a wider smile to his face when she did.

“With you,” he said lightheartedly, “It is.”

Nudging him, reprimanding him jokingly, she paused before musing, “I wonder what Phoebe and Rachel are doing, back home. It’s gotta be near ten o’clock last night for them.”

“Just after,” he added, reaching for his watch to verify if he was right; he nodded to himself as he set it back on the nightstand.

“This probably goes without saying,” she broached the delicate subject after a moment, attempting to word what she wanted to say carefully, “But, the night we just had, stays between us, right?”

“Yes,” he agreed without hesitation, adding in all seriousness, “It’s been a good night.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, snuggling closer against him, “It sure has.”

Falling into a comfortable silence, Monica relaxed against him, her head on his chest, allowing the beat of his heart to lull her as his arms held her in a loose embrace.

“I hope you’re feeling at least a little better,” he muttered, disrupting the quiet of the room, adding in the same casually sincere way, “The guy was wasted, Mon, ok? You shouldn’t let stupid people’s drunken comments upset you like that.”

“I know,” she conceded, then, inching her fingers across and down his chest, asked, “You know what would make me feel even better?”

Her subtle affections left zero doubt to what she was implying. “God, Mon, as much as I would love to again, and again and again, I just don’t think I have the energy. Ya’know,” he added, “We’ve done the deed six times in the last seven hours?”

Scoffing good naturedly, she asked, “Could we phrase it a little nicer, please?”

“Sorry,” he apologized, “I’m just tired.”

“Well, ya’know,” she suggested, almost impishly, “We could go for easy.”

Arching an eyebrow curiously, he asked, “Meaning?”

“Meaning, I do for you and you do for me. Hands only.”

“You mean, masturbate each other?” he asked, knowing she was blushing without even having to see her face.

“Yeah,” she whispered back, her fingers drifting lower, teasing the trail of hair leading away from his navel.

Moaning, he murmured, “I think I have enough energy for that. But,” he added, “You get to go first. I need a few minutes, before I’m gonna be able to get it up again.”

“Deal,” she agreed easily, shifting positions, laying flat on her back and opening her legs for him, adding, “There’s no rush this time. I want this to last a while.”

Smirking, he rolled onto his side and pressed against her, the arm still trapped beneath her pulling her tighter to him as he settled in. “One slow and torturous hand job, coming up.”

To be continued

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