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Before she gave herself to him, she needed to know just what it was.
Except Marc had always been better at bedroom games than she. More experienced, more able to control his responses. More able to articulate his thoughts and wishes. Tonight was no different.
“I want you, Isa,” he told her, his hands stroking up and down her back in a rhythm that was at once soothing and arousing. “I want to kiss your breasts, to take your nipples into my mouth and see if you can still come from just the feel of me rolling them against my tongue and teeth.”
She gasped then, didn’t even try to hide the flush of arousal his words sent ricocheting through her.
“I want to be on my knees in front of you. I want to lick along your sex and feel you come on my tongue.”
His words were so powerful, the need in his voice so seductive, that she grew wet from them alone.
“I want to pick you up and press you against the nearest wall. Want to feel your gorgeous legs wrap around my waist as I slide into you, nice and slow. I want to feel you clench around me, want to hear you call my name.”
“Marc.” She cried out his name and it was as much a demand as a plea. “I need—”
“I want you to come again and again and again. On my fingers, on my dick, on my tongue. Until all you know is pleasure. Until—”
He broke off as she threaded her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers in a kiss so hard she knew her lips would be bruised. Not that she cared. Right now, all she cared about was Marc and this moment and the feel of him inside her. She wanted to hold him, wanted him to empty himself inside her until she finally felt full.
Until she finally felt whole.
And then she wanted him to do it all again.
“Yes.” She breathed the word into his mouth even as she ripped at the fine silk of his shirt, desperate to get it off him. Desperate to feel his skin—hot and smooth—against her own.
Marc growled low in his throat—whether at her acquiescence or the feel of her nails scratching against his chest, she didn’t know. Buttons flew and he shrugged out of his ruined shirt even as he whipped her tank top over her head.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he growled. And then he was cupping her breasts in his calloused hands. She jerked, arching into the sensation that was somehow familiar and brand-new at the same time.
It was a double shot of sensation, to both watch and feel as he touched her. Need—hot and powerful—skyrocketed inside her with each swirl of his fingers around her nipples. It raced through her blood, slid from nerve ending to nerve ending until she burned with it, consumed by it. Until all she could think or feel, all she could smell or taste or see, was him.
Finally—finally—his thumbs brushed fully over her nipples and she cried out at the streak of pleasure that shot through her. She clutched at his shoulders. Arched her back. And offered herself to him in a way she’d offered herself to no other man.
In answer, he dropped to his knees in front of her. Pulled her yoga pants and panties down her legs. Pressed wet, openmouthed kisses to her belly, her rib cage, her breasts. And then, when she was whimpering—when her hands were clutching at his hair and her body was trembling with the need to feel him—he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked hard enough to make her scream.
He did it again and again, lashing his tongue back and forth over the hard bud until she trembled on the brink of orgasm. She fought it, not wanting to give in to him so easily. And not, she admitted in the deepest parts of herself, wanting it to end so quickly. It had been too long since Marc had held her, kissed her, made love to her, and if this was her one shot to have him again, she wasn’t going to rush it.
But then he pinched her other nipple between his thumb and middle finger—all while he continued to suck and lick and bite at her other nipple. Her knees went weak and she clutched onto his shoulders for support, her hips moving restlessly against his chest as she drew closer and closer to the edge.
As if sensing her dilemma, Marc pulled his mouth away from her breast. She whimpered—actually whimpered—until he fiercely whispered, “Let go, Isa. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I promise, I’ve got you, baby.”
And then his mouth was back on her breast and she lost it completely. Dark and broken sounds fell from her lips as she spiraled up, up, up, up.
“Yes, baby,” Marc encouraged, his fingers pinching her nipple a little more tightly. She cried out, scratching her nails down his back.
She was right there, her body poised to fly over the edge. Right there, right there, right—Marc bit her, gently, and with a scream that she was sure her neighbors could hear, she hurtled straight into ecstasy, her body convulsing again and again.
He held her, using his mouth and hands to draw out her pleasure until she was an incoherent mess. Then he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her and murmured sweet love words against her damp skin.
She didn’t understand what was happening here, didn’t know what had transformed the angry man from earlier into the tender lover she remembered, but she wasn’t going to worry about it. Not now, when her body was still singing with the most powerful orgasm she’d had in six years. Not now, when she was wrapped up in his arms so tightly that she could feel his heart beating against her skin. Not now, when she felt whole for the first time since Marc had kicked her out.
She’d do well to remember that—he’d kicked her out with nothing but the clothes on her back. And she would remember it. She would. Later. Right now, when she was naked and vulnerable and sated, she wanted to hold him and be held by him.
Wanted to love him and be loved by him—even if it was only her body she dared to give him. Even if it was only his body she was getting in return. Well, his body and long moments of completely unimaginable pleasure.
It wasn’t enough, wasn’t close to enough, but if it was all she would ever have of him, she would take it.
Six years ago, she’d learned that the future would come w
