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His hands reached for mine, slipping between my fingers, and holding them against the bed as his face lowered and his lips claimed mine.
Then he was no longer fucking me.
He was doing something I was sure I had never experienced before.
He was making love to me.
And all the times I had cringed at that phrase, thought it was sappy, cheesy, old-timey, well, I was flat-out wrong.
This wasn't sappy or cheesy or old-fashioned.
It was amazing.
Almost overwhelming.
More intense than anything I had ever experienced before.
As he ever-so-slowly drove me to the edge, this time me knowing he was going to let me go over and crash, as his lips gently owned mine, I felt a sting of tears in my eyes that I had to fight to keep away just as Mark pushed me into that suspended nothingness.
His lips pulled from mine as he pushed up, watching me with intense eyes. "I want to watch you come," he told me, voice nothing more than a harsh whisper as his cock pressed inside me once again and I... completely fell apart.
My fingers raked claw marks into his shoulders as I cried out his name, the waves seeming to crash endlessly as Mark kept stroking into me through it, dragging it out.
"Beautiful," he declared when the last wave settled, pressing deep one last time and then coming with my name on his lips.
His face buried into my neck as my legs and arms wrapped him up, held him perhaps way too tightly.
I didn't want the moment to end.
I wanted to stay that way for hours, days, forever.
It was eventually Mark who pulled against me, planting a kiss on my shoulder before pressing up on his hands. "Let me up, honey," he half-asked, half-declared in a quiet voice, planting a sweet kiss to my lips as I forced my legs and arms to give up their vice hold of him.
He moved off the bed and out of the bedroom to the bathroom as I forced myself to move up the bed and climb under the covers, take deep breaths to keep it together so I didn't go do something insane like telling him how other-worldly that sex session had just been, ask if he felt the same intense connection.
'Cause, let's face it, that was generally not the kind of talk you had with a man after the second sex session. It was way too much, way too soon. Even if he did chase you down to your safe house and make you reevaluate your life plans so he could maybe get to see more of you.
Even then it seemed too risky.
I didn't want to ruin what was looking to be a good thing by going too deep too fast.
Maybe, just maybe, if when I discussed it with my brothers, we could stick around. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that I could get to know Mark well enough to tell him how I felt with him on this stranger's bed in this lovely cabin, where I had spent so much unhappy time wishing I could have more of him.
That would be nice.
"That tub looks big enough for two," Mark informed me as he walked back in, gloriously naked, beautifully unconcerned with that fact, hair bed-messy, smile boyish. "Think I need a nap and then we might need to break that fucker in. I imagine those jets could be a lot of fun if we can get you in the right position," he went on, making my sex thrill at the idea despite the fact that the orgasm I just had should have been enough to last me days, weeks, a lifetime.
"Trying to torture me some more?" I asked as he pulled back the sheets and slid in, sitting slightly up against the headboard, and pulling me so my back was against his chest, his arms around my front.
"You tortured me first. You had it coming," he informed me, whispering his fingers across my belly.
My eyes narrowed as my body stiffened. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for more tickle spots. Oops," he said when his fingertips brushed across the sensitive underside of my breast. "Found a hot spot instead. Cataloging that for later. Back to the tickle... ah, there it is!" he declared when his light touch found my ribs, and I automatically squealed and tried to jerk away. "Don't worry. I'm not torturing you right now. Just keeping that in mind the next time your stubborn ass decides to run away instead of talking shit out."
"I'm pretty sure the woman is usually the one demanding talks."
"I'm pretty sure the man is usually the one running chickenshit scared. We got a gender-reversal thing going on here. Lucky for me, talking has never been a fucking weak spot for me." There was a short pause as his arms folded across me, squeezing me tight. "And I got some fucking chains in my truck if your ass proves a flight risk over bullshit little things again."
