His big hand clasps my ass, holding me against his erection. My brain is oatmeal and I’m consumed with an aching, pulsing need between my legs. My body is trying to get closer to him.
He dips his head and shocks me by finding a nipple through the cotton of my pajama top and tugging it into his mouth.
“Oh!” Sensation shoots from my nipple to my pussy, tugging an ever-deeper ache low inside me.
“Mmm.”
He knows me. He knows every erogenous zone, every turn-on, every secret desire. He’s already pulled my hair, making me dissolve into a wet, sticky mess. He knows how to kiss me, how to play with my tongue, how to suck on it, nip at my lips. I’m so far gone even if Tessa was right here in the room telling me not to fuck him, I’d ignore her.
He runs his hand all the way up my back under my shirt, then down, leaving a trail of electric sparks along my skin. I’m squirming against him and manage to wriggle myself on top of him. I kiss him and our mouths open wide to each other, seeking, tasting, consuming.
I keep wriggling my pelvis against his, over his dick, and he groans into my mouth. “Fuck, Ayla.”
“Yes, please.”
Another guttural noise rises from his throat.
I straddle him and sit up and pull off my top over my head.
He whimpers. He honest to God whimpers. His hands find my breasts almost reverently. The feel of his rough hands on my sensitive skin makes my abs contract hard. “So beautiful,” he whispers. “Christ.”
He still finds me beautiful. This unravels me even more. I stretch out on his chest and kiss him again, while his hands glide up and down my back. The only sound in the cottage is the wet noises our mouths make and the soft moans in our throats.
I shift my body so my nipples are right in front of his mouth and he immediately latches on to one, sucking it into his mouth with a devastating pull. My head falls back, my hands on his shoulders as he draws on my flesh, eliciting a flood of heat between my thighs.
I shift lower, dropping a kiss on his mouth, then a trail of them over his pecs and abs… down to the line of hair beneath his navel that disappears under the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Fuck,” he moans, his hand in my hair. “Feel how hard I am.”
I shift lower still, rubbing my cheek over the huge bulge beneath his underwear. The fabric there has a damp spot and I love how turned on he is for me. “Yeah. You are.”
“Ayla. Christ, Ayla.”
“Mmm.” I press a kiss to the fabric, then hook my fingers under it to tug it down. His cock is right there, ready and hard and leaking. So beautiful. I circle my fingers around him. I wish I had more light so I could see him better. So I could admire him. But his girth and weight in my hand is exquisite. I stroke him up and down, his skin thin and velvety over the solid core of him. I comb my fingers through the thick hair at the base, and with my other hand delve into his briefs to cup his balls. I let out a little hiss of pleasure at the feel of them in my palm, and he grunts.
I want to taste him, but before I can do that, he sits up to kiss me again. I’m on his lap, his arms around me, our mouthsfused yet again, and then he works my pajama pants down over my hips. It’s awkward and ridiculous as I go onto my knees so he can pull them lower, and he fumbles with them. I laugh softly as he makes an impatient noise and lifts me off him to drag them the rest of the way off. He shoves down his briefs, too, and we’re both naked, skin to skin and oh my God, oh my God, it feels sublime. Euphoric.
“Is this okay?” He peers into my eyes. “We can stop if you want.”
I cup his face with both hands. “It’s okay.”
“What about a condom?”
“Oh.” That stops me. Not something we had to worry about. “I don’t…”
“I don’t either.”
We stare at each other in the dusky room.
“I… haven’t been with anyone else,” I say. “But you?—”
“I haven’t either.”
“Really?”
We share another long, loaded look.
“Really.”
