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Something was happening between this girl and me. Something beyond hate or even history. I wasn’t sure if she hated me anymore, and I wasn’t sure what the realization did for me. I just knew the very thought of not being buried between this girl’s legs was ending me.
“Thatcher…”
That and when she said my name. She hooked an arm around me, gripping me. Her mouth touched my ear. “Don’t stop.”
I’d die if I did, telling her that when I bit her neck. “Come for me, snow. Come for me beautifully.”
She couldn’t come any other way, and when her hips rocked, picking up with mine, I was right there with her.
“Holy fuck,” I ground out, then roared when every inch of me exploded at once. I filled the condom like a fucking teen, and it took everything I had not to collapse on top of her. It physically took restraint and energy, and after, I gathered the skirt of her dress.
I cleaned her with my mouth, soothed her, and the ache escaped her lips again. Her knees pulled in, like she was trying to push me away, but I wasn’t having it. I needed her taste, needed her essence.
“Thatcher,” she gasped, her thick hips lifting, trembling. She didn’t need to tell me she was close to coming again so soon. “Thatcher, I can’t,” she said, but she could.
And she was going to.
“Don’t fight it, baby,” I said, kissing her snatch. I dragged my tongue through her folds. “Let me taste you. Let yourself come like a good girl.”
The praise seemed to be just what she needed for a second time, and I tweaked her nipple through her dress to take her over the edge. She came for a second time with my face between her thighs, and I licked every drop of what she gave me.
I worshiped it.
It was like a warm gift, and I pulled her languid body to me. Her arms draped around my neck limply, her body spent, exhausted.
“More,” she said, finally pushing off my mask. She wanted to see me, and she did when her mouth touched my temple. “Make love to me.”
Make love.
I wasn’t sure I knew how to do that for her. I’d never been in love before.
But I was going to try.
I picked her up like a damsel, placing her on the bed. I immediately went to take my jacket off, but her hands came up.
They touched me.
I froze, flinching with her hands on me, my chest, and she stopped too. Her mouth parted. “What?”
I didn’t know, but my instinct was to control. I was the one who did the directing, the guiding.
Then why was I letting her undress me?
Her hands were hesitant. I assumed because I froze, flinched, and I wondered if she remembered that first time I’d fucked her. I hadn’t let her touch me, nor had I in the woods or the motel. Not really.
She was touching me now, and she got up on her knees. The material of her dress was above her brown thighs, and again, I’d never seen a girl so beautiful. She was flushed from her shoulders to her thighs. She was thoroughly fucked but ready for me.
She wanted more from me.
I remained incredibly still as she pushed my long jacket off, and my heart kicked up a beat when she started to unbutton my ruffled shirt. She smiled. “You look nervous.”
Did I? Her fingers brushed my chest, exposing it. I took over then, guiding her to her back.
I guess everything was a little much, overwhelming.
I pushed myself out of my head when I sealed our lips, and when my hand slid beneath her gown, I forgot about everything else. My fingers played with her sex, and she gasped.
Her hips rose. “Thatcher…”
