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“Yes,” I gasp. “I’m going to come on your fingers first. Then you’re going to fuck me into oblivion because you fucking owe me that much.”
His hand loosens its chokehold as he chuckles, humor lighting his eyes in the mirror.
“And more, Isla. But it’s the least I can do.” His fingers change rhythm. The track of whatever internal mix tape he’s hearing flips. In seconds, I’m edging. So close, so fucking close. “Nothing feels as good sliding against my fingers as you. Come for me so my cock can feel this, too.”
He bites my collarbone, then he licks slowly up the column of my neck. I have to grip either side of the mirror to keep myself upright.
“Look at yourself as you fall apart for me, Isla. Watch how magnificent you are.” He clamps onto my earlobe again, and I shatter. My body convulses with small ripples as he continues to hold me in place, his hard dick pressing into my ass with small pulses. Cillian giving me direct eye contact through mirror only makes me come harder. It’s more intimate when he’s watching me, watching him get me off.
“Fuck,” I groan when the waves subside some. He doesn’t stop rubbing all the right spots until my body stops all movement besides my heaving chest. While still holding my eyes with his, he takes his fingers out of me and brings them to his mouth. Painting his lips first, he finally closes his eyes when he sucks them clean.
“Damn it, I’ve missed you,” he says ever so quietly. “Now get naked.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. Not after that orgasm, anyway. My sex life is perfectly healthy for a woman my age and in my position. Though, admittedly, I don’t let go easily with anyone but Tyson, who I only see a few times a year now. Even with him, it’s never felt like this.
My body remembers Cill, it’s comfortable with him touching me. Like a sexual muscle memory, he’s where I learned everything.
“You first,” I tease him since he’s still wearing his jeans. He winks and pushes his jeans off, kicking them to the side. There’s nothing beneath them. Just him, hard and ready. My sight doesn’t stay there though. As impressive as it is, his whole body is breathtaking. As I suspected, Cillian is in the best form of his life. Angles and ridges, defined muscles atop defined muscles.
My mouth waters with the desire to be skin-to-skin with such a specimen. I reach around to unhook my bra, then shimmy out of my panties too. My flesh might not appear as perfect as his, but he’s made me feel like it’s equally worthy of worship. So, I stand brave and tall, letting him take me in the way I did him.
“Come here, Isla,” he commands me. Before I can make it the full few feet to where he’s perched at the end of the bed, he grabs my arm and pulls me closer. His mouth goes to my breast, sucking my nipple in without any warning. A gasp escapes me.
“Condom.”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, almost as if I’ve stunned him. Whether by my demand or the timing of it, who knows. “I am clean. For reference.”
“So am I. And I’m on birth control. Not that it did me any good before, so I still demand condoms.”
“That’s good,” he says while pulling open a drawer on his nightstand. “You should. You don’t want any little Murphys running around.”
I think he’s trying for a joke, but it comes across snide and full of jealousy. It both pisses me off and turns me on.
“Tyson has been good to me, don’t give him shit,” I say, as he slides the condom over his impressive dick. “But it’s cute that you think he’s the only one I fuck.”
“Don’t make me lose my erection,” he mumbles.
“Aw, don’t lie, Cillian. The thought of me getting railed by some random in a darkened club hallway doesn’t turn you off.”
“You’ll fucking pay for that.”
“Gladly,” I reply, propping my elbows on the bed as I bend over. Pushing up on my toes, I raise my ass in the air and wiggle it a bit. We’re not doing this face-to-face. There was more than enough intimacy in that mirror a few minutes ago; I’ll have no more of that.
Instead of driving into me as I expect him to, he lines me up and pulls me back on to him by my hips.
“Fuck,” we say in unison. I drop my forehead to the soft sheet, hoping it can cool some of the flush I’m getting from Cillian being inside of me. Again. He must be feeling something similar too, because he holds there, unmoving, save for a thumb gently rubbing circles at the side of my ass.
“Maybe you’re rusty, but this is the part where you fuck me senseless,” I taunt.
“You just feel…”
“No.” This doesn’t feel sentimental or nostalgic. It’s not like coming home after you’ve been away too long. “I feel like the woman that hid your baby from you for years.” His grip tightens and he finally starts to move, pulling out slowly and slamming back in harder.
“I hate you.” Truth or lie? I don’t know.
“Fuck me like that then,” I say, because it doesn’t matter if he’s being honest with me or with himself. This isn’t a recoupling; we’re not healing old wounds. Maybe we’re causing new ones. Or this is the goodbye our bodies were denied. Whatever it is, it feels amazing, him sliding out and forcing himself back a little further each time. A little harder each time.
He trails a hand down my thigh, pulling my leg up on to the bed at the knee and adjusting his stance. It drives him even deeper, and I collapse down on my head and shoulders, muffling my moans in the bedding.
