We were lying under the bedclothes, our hands held in a tight, but not painful, clasp. I wasn't wearing much... and neither was she. We were wearing things - it's winter, and winter is cold! - but not, y'know, much. Crucially, with one swift movement I could have had my trousers off and easy access to my penis. It's quite a fortunate incident when that sort of thing happens.
"I want to feel you come," she whispered into my ear. "I want to hold you while you come."
"Are you going to come too?" I said, curiously, while (not so) surreptitiously removing my pyjama trousers and kicking them across the room - which wasn't far, as our room is about four metres squared.
My eyes snapped open, looking for a visual cue. As it was pitch dark, I couldn't get one... but I could certainly feel one. Confident that we'd be sharing a moment together, I abandoned myself to the heady bliss of masturbation, gleeful that this would be the first time we had our orgasms in the new house. Not quite the first time we have sex... but the first time that we orgasm. Together. It should be, I reasoned, recorded appropriately.
My mind, dormant for a relatively long time in self-pleasuring terms, immediately plunged into its deepest reserves of sexual triggers... and judging by the shudders I could feel directly to my right, she was there too (or, at least, in her equivalent). With barely a warning, not a squeak, not even bothering to throw off the bedcovers, I let myself go, and came, feeling my stomach, chest and hand getting soaked in the warm, wet and welcoming familiar sensation.
I reached for a wet wipe without turning the lights on. She was still making short, sharp motions in the bed, and her breathing was getting heavier. Clearly mine wasn't going to be the end of the orgasms that night.