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This was home now.
And I never wanted to leave.
48
BREE
My greatest desire was for Vinh Lott to never leave.
My body.
My life.
Me.
None of it.
This was the life I wanted.
Not one of my fantasies or daydreams about how it would be between us lived up to reality or played out even remotely like this. We lay together the wrong way on the bed, Vinh behind me in the big-spoon position, my leg thrown back over him. At some point between his first thrust and who knows what number later, he’d snaked his arm under my neck and began to knead my breast every time I closed my eyes in ecstasy. I swore that it felt like he had more than two hands at work.
I was more than thankful for his forethought in using lube. It was a tight fit for our first time and probably would still be for our hundredth, if I were honest about the situation.
He must’ve felt, seen, or maybe sensed how far I’d come back into my mind, because his next thrust was more powerful than the last and coincided with a firm press of my clit from his talented fingers, stealing both my breath and ability to form conscious thought. I looked down, transfixed by the cant of his hips and the way my body received his, feeling suddenly desperate for his dark-as-coal gaze. I reached back and ran my hand through his hair before tugging the strands and pulling his mouth to mine. We groaned in unison at the slightly altered angle as our lips met again and again in a clash of tongue, teeth, and exhalations of pleasure.
Eventually we pulled back and stared into each other's eyes, Vinh raised slightly above me. “Tell me you’re close, Bree,” he rasped, a flash of pain crossing his face as his hips briefly faltered before he shook his head slightly and shocked me completely by pulling out.
“Ahh—” I cried out at the loss but was cut short when he released my leg from his grip and maneuvered himself on top of me, taking my mouth again in a filthy, toe-curling kiss. My hands shot up to his face, grabbing each side and anchoring myself to the moment, feeling— knowing— everything that was Vinh Lott. He broke the kiss only to pull back and leave a trail of them from the corner of my mouth, down my neck, and then across my collarbone. God, his kisses were intoxicating, and I was already flying as high as I’d ever been.
He planted one more kiss on my shoulder before bracing a hand beside my head and taking his cock in the other, guiding himself back into me. My breath caught in my lungs at the fullness, and his gaze zeroed in on me, his thrusts slower and more methodical this time, an intense look of concentration on his features that I knew meant he was cataloging everything—my expressions, my breaths, and the sounds I made—or didn’t make—with every angle and touch.
I did the same to him, watching the way his brow would furrow or his mouth would drop open on a particularly long, deep thrust. The way his muscles tensed or relaxed based on whether or not I used my nails or how I said his name.
My pussy throbbed, and the other telltale signs of climax zipped down my body, lighting my nerves on fire. I ran my hands down his back and grabbed his ass, urging him to thrust faster, harder. His eyes flared in surprise before he met and exceeded my request, grabbing one of my legs behind the knee to open me wider. The angle was just right, and my back bowed off the bed, my eyes rolling back as Vinh dipped down to take my breast into his mouth, sucking hard before pulling back to blow on the wetness, eliciting a full body shiver.
Knowing I only had moments left, I let go of all of it—my life before this man.
Vinh rested his forehead against mine and moved his hand to my pussy, right where we were joined, and pressed the heel of his hand to my clit.
And with one more thrust, I was gone.
I rocketed straight into outer space, floating among the stars and galaxies. Anything the universe offered, I observed in that moment and didn’t experience alone. Vinh’s hips stuttered and stilled, his cock deep inside me as he came on a low, beautiful groan, his chest heaving and gaze reverent as he studied my face.
“Bree,” he breathed, kissing every inch of my face before he lowered his gaze to where we were still joined, his eyes flaring with possessive pride as he slipped from me, his lips lifting in a smile that had goosebumps racing across my skin.
He pushed his mess of black hair back from his face and then sprawled the hand of his tattooed arm across my stomach in a claiming touch, drinking me in. “Keeping you,” he murmured, the same words he’d used after our swim at Fortuna.
I rested my hand over his and smiled at him, feeling as grounded as I’d ever felt despite being in the bedroom of a boat, in the arms of a man who I’d only known for weeks.
Respected.
When he lifted me from the bed and helped me to the bathroom to clean up, offering me privacy—that I declined—to do so.
Cherished.
When he grasped my jaw in one hand and traced the planes of my face with the other, letting the adoration in his eyes show clearly on his face.
Desired.
