I smile and shuffle backwards. He unwraps a condom, rolls it on and comes to lie beside me.
‘In the many times I’ve imagined this, none ended with me coming after thirty seconds of head.’
‘You’ve imagined it a lot?’
He looks at me like I’m speaking another language. ‘Since that first night with Tig and Theo. That fucking Britney T-shirt was so fucking tight. It didn’t help I knew what your naked breasts looked like underneath.’
‘You talk like that was the last time you saw tits.’
‘Your tits are unsurpassed, Nella.’
His mouth finds my breast, and he gently squeezes while his tongue swirls around my nipple.He lightly bites me, and it’s like there’s a burning string from my nipple to my core, and I let out a moan.
‘No one has ever turned me on like this,’ I say, my voice a gasp.
His hand slips between my thighs, and his eyes turn black when he feels how wet I am.
‘I can’t believe I get to do this with you,’ he says softly.
He positions himself and slowly enters me, his eyes never leaving mine.
Despite my arousal, it takes me a few moments to get used to him.
Once he’s all the way in, he withdraws a little to give my body time to accommodate him. I nod, and he lowers himself again, this time waiting longer before he pulls up again.
He starts to build up a rhythm, braced up on his forearms, watching my face for any signs of discomfort. He kisses me, and I lift my head to kiss him back more deeply. But his movement means his lips don’t stay in contact with mine, and my mouth hangs open, trying to catch the smallest of touches from him.The first spark of an orgasm ignites low in my belly, and I frown, biting my lip, totally focused on the building pleasure.
‘Are you okay?’ he whispers.
I nod. ‘God, yes. Keep going.’
He drives a little harder, and I lift my hips to meet his as I chase my release.
There’s a fluidity to Mark’s thrusts. His weight is balanced perfectly between his shoulders and hips, and the eye contact adds an exquisite intensity. The sight above me is breathtaking. Mark Marino in missionary position is a work of art.
He slows. ‘You look like you’re thinking.’
‘What?’
‘You’re thinking thoughts.’
‘I guess,’ I say uncertainly. ‘I was just thinking how beautiful you are.’
I smile, but he doesn’t smile back. ‘If you’re thinking, I’m not doing this right.’
‘You want to fuck every thought out of my head?’
‘That’s the aim, yes.’
Before I can tell him he might need to revise his expectations, and possibly check his male ego, he pulls out completely.
He gets up on his knees, throws my legs over his shoulders and sinks into me again.
The changed angle steals my breath. ‘JesusChrist,’ I pant.
‘That’s more fucking like it.’
He continues to drive into me, and I cry with each rock of his pelvis. My hips rise higher and higher until, eventually, he’s pushed my knees to my shoulders. The world is reduced to that precise point inside me that he keeps hitting, and I feel myself unravelling, my body nothing but sensation. And for the next few moments, I’m just a euphoric, mindless passenger exploding around him.
