I want him.
I need him.
I can’t even question the tumble of emotions that surge in rhythmic sync with the physical bliss of him, the pleasure is simply too good. My inner muscles squeeze tightly around him, my orgasm pulling him deeper, like a succulent, alluring invitation. He thrusts into each spasm, spinning the ecstasy higher.
I can feel every ridged vein and every throbbing pulse of him as he fucks me with so much dark, desperatejoy, it changes us both. I canfeelthat this is the most pleasure he’s ever felt. I can hear it in his breathing and his low oaths.
We clicked when we met in the bar in a way that felt unexplainable. We click when we’re having sex in a soul-alteringconnect. Even though I’ve never done this before, he feelsdisconcertingly likethe one.He’s fully, deeply inside me and Ilovehim there, almost more than I can bear.
My inner muscles work his big cock lovingly until he growls like he’s riding the exact same wave of agony-ecstasy I am. Hot throbs of his cum force another wash of pleasure and I come again, spiraling into an orbit of compounded bliss that completely undoes me.
The waves are long and lush, milking him over and over as he pumps his hot seed deep inside me.
We’re both breathing hard as our slick, secret bond pulses and spills. I’m full and literally overflowing with his beauty, that’s how it feels.
After a while, the ripples begin to ease. A weary contentedness floods me with a calming euphoria.
“Dallas Wilder,” I whisper, kissing his face.
“Amelie Thibodeaux, you’re an angel and I’m keeping you.”
I’m used to his pronouncements by now and in this sacred, life-changing moment, I let them settle into me and comfort me like warm little truths. I shut my mind to the old familiar life lessons that have taught me to never trust warm little truths. Because they’re almost always lies dressed up as hope. Either way, I’ve never spoken truer words that these: “I’m glad I waited for you.”
“You’re mine, Boo,” he murmurs, smoothing my hair and kissing my mouth. “You were always meant to be mine.”
25
Dallasand I spend the entire weekend in bed.
We literally can’t get close enough. I’ve discovered a new side of myself and she isgreedyfor everything this beautiful, virile beefcake hunk of a man who feels like he might just be my weekend soulmate has to give me. Ilovemaking him come, go figure.I love the feel of his big cock coming inside me, bursting with his hot, milky beauty.The triumph of it empowers me beyond words and makes me crave more, and more. I’m as starved for him as he is for me.
We’ve made love non-stop. He ordered us room service and fed me. We took a long bath in the jacuzzi tub and talked about our favorite things. And the painful things too. We have a lot in common when it comes to some of the details of our pasts, and nothing in common when it comes to others. We’ve lived very different lives, but we both understand loss a little too well.
I love the taste of him, and his man-scent, of earthywoodsmoke and salty, exotic spices. I love the hard, ridged textures of his body. I love tracing his tattoos with my fingers as I lick his skin.
Iloveoffering myself to him, tempting him and giving him whatever he wants. And he wantseverything. He’s endlessly, relentlessly hot for me. He hates to pull out, but when I get too sore, he’ll wash me gently and kiss me, murmuring sweet and dirty words, easing me into another dreamy rise, forcing more of the whole-body pleasure he insists on.
When we sleep, which we haven’t done much of, he wakes me up by licking my pussy until I’m moaning his name and pleading for him to take me again.
I wanted to make him come that way too. It was the wildest thing. I can’t help that I turn into a sex addict around Dallas Wilder. Ilovedrinking him, so much I hardly recognize myself. It feels like he’s nourishing me with his own crazy essence, enlightening me, instilling me with a power usually reserved for mythical creatures. I’ve only done it once but I want to do it again.
But right now his big body is wrapped around mine, spooning me, still inside me. We’re recovering from yet another intense, soul-entwining orgasm.
“Amelie?”
“Yeah?”
“When we get to New York, I want you to stay with me.” His tone is patient, like he’s expecting me to protest, but also has that sureness to it, the one that reminds me that he runs Fortune 500 companies and does billion dollar deals every dayof the week without breaking a sweat. “I want you to move in with me.”
Move in with him?I turn to him, and his barely-softened cock slides from my body with a gush. “Dallas?—”
“Sadie can come too, if you want. It’ll be a lot more comfortable than her sister’s couch. I have seven bedrooms.”
“Seven?”
“Don’t protest. We’re too deep into this now to protest. I told you. I’ll take care of you.”
It’s that same assurance he keeps giving me. When we’re having sex, I love the sound of it. But when it comes to the other stuff, like real life, it tends to bounce off my forcefield instead of fully absorbing. “Dallas?—”
