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I stand in the middle of the rug, not sure where she wants me. I’m in the calm space at the center of a tornado. If I move too far in any direction, it’ll fling me out, fling me away from her.
When she takes a step toward me, I grab her at the waist and pull her in.
I get her right up against me, get my hands in all that hair, and I kiss her as if I’d never stopped. As if we can start right up again, right now, and pretend everything in the middle never happened.
She tastes like she always did. Hot and eager, wet and sinuous. Amazing.
Amazing is all I can think as I’m filling my hands with Caroline, breathing her in, licking over her lip and giving her my tongue, taking every eager pant like it belongs to me.
I strum my thumbs over her nipples, the beat of the music inside me, the vibrating bass in my balls, driving intrusive seeking urgency in my dick, in my hands on her ass, my knee between her legs pushing her back to the bed, knocking her down.
I’m going too fast, too eager, but she’s keeping up with me, lifting her hips into my hard cock with her legs spread, biting the tendon in my neck and sucking at me like she needs it this way, too. Fast and hard and important.
God, it feels as important as breathing, the way the pressure builds when you’re holding your breath underwater, your eyes closed, that urgency for air pounding away at you until you can’t take it anymore, you just have to.
I have to.
We have to.
She gets her hands under my shirt and rakes her nails down my back. Grabs my ass so hard I feel the bite of her nails on my taint.
I keep kissing her. It’s not a seduction, it’s an invasion, an attack, clashing swords, clanging shields, both of us desperate to get at each other, get inside the other, get there.
“Take this off,” she demands, and I sit up and whip off my shirt, grab hers by two fistfuls of cotton from the bottom and pull and pull until it’s gone.
Her bra is white and lacy.
Her bra is sailing across the room to hit the locked door with a soft tap, and I’m sucking half of her breast into my mouth and flicking my tongue over the tip while I massage the other and she’s gasping my name. “West. Jesus. Don’t you think—”
I’m not interested in thinking. I kiss the words off of her mouth, push them aside, reach down and jerk at the laces of my boots and somehow miraculously manage to get them untied on one side while I start kissing her again.
The other side gets knotted up.
Whatever. I’m not fucking stopping over boots. She had slip-on shoes that she’s already slipped off, so I go up on my knees and work at her button and zipper, shoving her jeans and panties down before she can say anything, because I’m afraid she’ll see reason and make me stop.
I get my hand between her thighs, my fingers in where she’s slick and hot and soft, swollen, and I’m a safecracker working at Caroline’s pussy. I know everything she likes, know it like I know how to spell my own name, so I spell my name all over her cunt, working two fingers inside her, my thumb pressing on her clit, not too much, just the way sh
e likes.
Her cheeks are blazing pink, her eyes closed, forehead wrinkled up like she’s going to cry, and she says my name on a sob, “West.”
“Don’t stop me,” I’m pleading, and she says, “No, no,” which is exactly what I’ve been afraid of, although part of me recognizes the sanity of it.
I mean, this is stupid. I know it’s stupid.
This could ruin everything, ruin it worse than it’s already ruined, and until tonight I didn’t know there was anywhere we could end up that was worse than where we already were, but there is.
There’s this. This one thing I haven’t fucked up yet.
My hand stills.
My head drops to her neck, and she slaps my shoulder so hard.
“No, West, I meant don’t stop. Don’t, don’t.” She’s fucking herself onto my fingers, lifting and pushing at me, slapping the flat of my shoulder like I’m a balky horse and she wants me to get a move on. “Please.”
I never could say no to her.
“You have condoms?” I ask.
