And then he’s kissing me, more words filling the air as though the pillow has succumbed in a pillow fight.
“Te amo… Te amo más que respirar…Millie, my God, I love you…Eres mía, ¿me oyes?...Mine, I tell you.”
“Ours,” I gasp, snatching breath where I can. “This is ours.”
He groans in pleasure when I echo his earlier words. And with his groan, Luc tilts his hips, and I feel the branding heat of his erection on my bare thigh. I blink my eyes closed as sensation washes over me. Because, suddenly, it isn’this erectionormy thigh. It’s him and me. Not pieces and parts that can be named and separated.
No more separation.
The urge to be closer to him opens me. My knees fall wide, and he settles into the cradle of my hips.
Luc’s breath rasps when his sex presses against mine, his hard length connecting with my slippery stem of nerves.
“Millie…” Luc’s voice is both hoarse and deep, a rumble of warning hidden among the consonants and vowels of my name. I hear his warning, and a part of me tells me to heed it. To pull away. To play it safe.
But that niggling voice can’t compete with the chorus of body, heart, and soul that calls for him. For us.
“I need you.” I hear the words leave my mouth, and every part of me—even the tightly wound voice of protest—knows this truth.
“Millie…” The warning note is gone, replaced by one of pleading. “I can’t… I can’t say no if you’re saying yes.” His hips roll, and I swear it’s involuntary, but mine echo the movement, grinding into him as though fated for nothing else. “I’m not strong enough to hold back.”
In this moment, I’m not torn. I have no internal debate. Just this one possible path. “Then let go.”
His breath leaves him. Luc kisses me, devouring me as though I’ve become air, and blood, and life itself.
One of his hands slips between us, and I gasp at his expert touch. I close my eyes, but when I feel him lean to the far side of the bed, I open them to find Luc reaching for his jeans. One-handed, he plucks his wallet and flips it open. I know exactly what he’s doing, and a voice inside me, one that’s neither panicked nor unsure, whispers.
It won’t matter.
But I say nothing. Because the time for words is over. I run my hands down Luc’s torso, wanting them to speak for me. My fingertips glide over the sensual terrain of ribs and muscles as he caresses me. His fingers leave me. Impatient, I palm the sides of his waist, feeling his taut strength. Now that he is this close, mere inches from me as he rips open the condom and rolls it down over his imposing erection, I can’t believe I’ve been able to resist him as long as I have.
It feels like we were always destined to be here. Right here. I watch him grip himself at the base, and I know that nothing could be more natural than joining with him. It is as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun.
I look up to find him gazing down at me, his pupils inky black pools. The head of his sex brushes the petals of mine.
“Are you sure, Millie?” His voice trembles with what I know is the effort to hold back. But I don’t want him to hold back. We can’t anymore.
“God, yes.”
With my hands on his waist, I feel his breath still as he enters me. My eyes are on his face, and his look of sublime torture leaves me transfixed. Because I must, I wrap my legs around him, my heels landing on the backs of his thighs. He closes his eyes as he sinks slowly into me, and I want to watch, but I can’t keep still. My back arches at his exquisite invasion, my hips impatient to bring him into me. All the way in.
He moves with such maddening slowness that my fingers become claws. I reach for the rock hard anchor of his buttocks and clutch him to me with a thrust that tears a cry from both of us.
Like a bolt of lightning, pleasure sears my every nerve.
Luc draws back, the friction of his retreat rapturous, but at the same time, not enough. Not nearly enough. I haul him back, needing him deep inside me. Needing him as close as he can get.
“Luc.”It’s almost a wail.
At my plea, Luc finds our rhythm. Rapid. Pounding. Dizzying.
Shocks of pleasure rock through me as his hips piston, his glutes firing beneath my palm. Sweat mists our skin, the heat we build igniting blood and breath.
“Luc,” I call his name, more urgent this time. Trying to claim this moment as the sum of all my hopes. Wishing I could let him know that this is all I want. To be with him. To be joined with him.
“Eres mía… Eres mía,”he pants. And as the pulsing of my climax converges, gathering like a summer storm, I think I catch his meaning.
Mine.
