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I take it and rip it open quickly, discarding the empty foil packet to the side. My fingers are clumsy as I take it to the broad head of his cock.
‘Steady,’ he murmurs, holding himself vertical from his lap. I’m too desperate to be steady, all fingers and thumbs, and once Becker’s realised that, he takes over and quickly covers himself.
With one fast move, I’m hauled onto his lap and with a sharp shift of his hips, he thunders up on a harsh bark, me on a scream. He brings me down, pushing his hands into the tops of my arms and his back into the chair. His stupidly defined chest sends me cross-eyed. If I could find my senses, I could probably find the energy to dribble at the sight, but he lifts me fast and drives back up, so fucking deep, groaning and dropping his chin lifelessly to his chest. ‘Fucking hell,’ he whispers hoarsely.
I swivel on his lap, grinding down as his head flies up, pleasure rife through the sweat and strain on his face.
‘You feel so good,’ he pants, encouraging me to circle again, transferring his hold to my hips. ‘I love seeing you like this.’ Our eyes lock. The intensity bouncing between us is rampant. Every one of my nerve endings is in a pickle, the spasms relentless. I grind again, loving the glints of wonder sparking from his eyes. He’s letting me take control, holding back on his power and instinct to smash into me. I make sure I don’t disappoint.
‘Do I feel good wrapped around you, Becker?’ I ask, rolling firm and deep. His cheeks puff out, his fingers clawing into the flesh of my hips. ‘Tell me, you holier-than-thou-twat. Do I feel good?’
‘Jesus, Eleanor,’ he chokes, blinking his eyes a few times, the sensation of his cock gliding smoothly into me stirring the pressure, pushing it forward.
‘Not so holier-than-thou now, are you?’ I lift and push down precisely.
‘Fuck!’
‘Do you like me talking dirty to you?’ Around I go, up and down on a slap of flesh. ‘Renaissance,’ I whisper provocatively, smiling on the inside.
‘Eleanor.’ His eyes roll into the back of his head, the groans coming thick and fast.
I meld the flesh of his shoulders as I fall forward, my breathing stuttering slightly as a result of the change in angle. He’s so deep, so thick and warm. I get my nose close to his and swivel my hips again, not just once, but twice, three times, four times, with no break in between. He starts mumbling incoherent words, which I’m sure are prayers. ‘Answer my question, Becker,’ I breathe in his face, driving forward and up. I have to bite back my scream when the move I instigate hits deeper, shocking me.
‘How do you do this to me, princess?’ His face is wet now, sweat beads trickling down his forehead. ‘Tell me how.’
‘You love me,’ I say huskily. He’s only had sex with women for nothing more than physical pleasure. Add emotion, and he’s in alien territory. He’s bamboozled by it. Lost but found. I rest my mouth on his and push my hands into his hair. ‘I do this to you because you love me.’
‘Every second of every minute of every hour of every fucking day.’ He traces his fingers up my waist, my sides, my arms, until his hands are in his hair with mine. He links our fingers and crushes them together, pushing his forehead into mine. His cock is pulsing rhythmically within me, stroking my walls soothingly. He blinks slowly and breathes in calmly. ‘I’m fucking besotted.’
‘Infatuated,’ I counter.
‘Smitten,’ Becker adds. ‘I can’t wait to make love to you every single day.’
‘And good-fucking-mornings?’ I ask, my voice throaty from dryness.
He grins and brings our hands to between our mouths. ‘Good-fucking-mornings.’ He kisses a knuckle softly. ‘Good-fucking-afternoons.’ And another knuckle. ‘Good-fucking-evenings.’ And another. ‘And good-fucking-nights.’ His last kiss on my hand is drawn out and harder than the others.
I’m so bloody happy. ‘Can’t wait,’ I whisper, and he laughs, but it dries up in an instant when his sudden movement stirs him within me, catching us both off guard, reminding us that we’re still connected. ‘Oh.’ I collapse forward, burying my face in his neck helplessly.
‘Fucking oh,’ Becker mimics as I feel his throat bulge from his hard swallow. ‘Let me see your face.’ He nudges me from my sanctuary, forcing me to comply. My forehead meets his again. ‘I’m aiming for an eight.’ His tone is dripping with cockiness, and he falls straight into a steady thrusting of his hips, swaying up and grinding me down controlled and leisurely. I whimper, my thighs compressing around his, my body following his fluid pace. The friction on my clitoris each time I plunge down is creating an addictive sensation that I never want to end. A ten. Always a ten. I’m caught between a full-on, shake-worthy orgasm and consistent, trembling pleasure.
