She watches intently, fascinated as my cock twitches in her grip. “You’re so responsive,” she murmurs.
“I’ve been hard since you walked into my restaurant,” I admit.
She tears the condom packet open with her teeth and rolls it down my length. Her touch is maddening, teasing. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from spilling right then and there.
“Put me inside you, Omega,” I tell her, my voice dropping to a growl.
She stands up, kicking her jeans and panties the rest of the way off. She takes my cock in her hand and rubs the head against her clit, using me to stimulate herself. The sight is nearly my undoing. She is wet and swollen, ready for me.
She settles me at her entrance, looking up at me with wide, trusting eyes.
I reach down and lift her thigh, hooking her knee over my elbow to open her up for me. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
I push in.
The sensation is overwhelming. She is tight, hot, and incredibly wet. She envelops me, her body stretching to accommodate me.
Her head falls back, a silent gasp parting her lips as I fill her. I cup her chin with my free hand, tilting her face up to mine.
“Look at me, Amber. I want your eyes on me. I want to watch you milk my cock.”
“Okay,” she breathes, her hazel eyes swimming with emotion and desire.
She is so beautiful like this. Her chest is heaving, her dark nipples pebbled from the cold air and my touch. She struggles slightly against me, not to get away, but to get closer, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“So beautiful,” I tell her, thrusting deeper, burying myself to the hilt.
“Yeah?” she asks, her voice trembling.
I nod, withdrawing slightly before slamming back into her. “Yeah. You’re perfect.”
I set a hard pace, driven by a need I haven’t felt in years. Every thrust feels essential, like I’m trying to fuse our souls together through skin and friction. The kitchen fills with the sounds of our slapping skin, our ragged breathing, and the wet, slick noises of our coupling.
“Oh fuck, Eli,” she groans. “I’m going to come again. I’ll come again.”
“Do it,” I command, not letting up. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”
Her inner walls clamp down on me like a vise. She cries out, her whole body seizing up as her third orgasm rips through her.
Her nails claw at my arms, pulling me closer, desperate for contact. Her lips are everywhere—on my lips, my nose, my neck—kissing me frantically. She is almost as needy as I am.
“I’m coming for you, Elijah,” she whispers against my mouth, the words broken and breathless.
And then she kisses me, deep and hard, and I feel her pulse around me, milking me, dragging me right over the edge with her.
“Ah, shit! Amber!”
I can’t control my hips. I thrust into her, erratic and powerful, losing all rhythm as the pleasure explodes up my spine.
I bury my face in her neck, shouting her name as I empty myself into the condom, my body shuddering with the force of it.
We stand there for a long time, leaning against the cooler door, wrapped around each other, struggling to catch our breath. The air is thick with the scent of sex and cinnamon.
My mind is completely quiet. There is no anxiety, no overthinking. Just her.
Only her.
