Page 42 of Still Missing You

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed in consternation. Sweat drips down his back.

“Are you okay? Is it too much?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s good. So good. Just been a while. I got to go slow.”

“Go as slow as you need to,” I tell him, losing myself to the exquisite torture of his body enveloping mine.

Once he’s fully seated, he groans, then leans forward and kisses me. I stay still, letting him adjust. Finally, he starts to move, riding me slowly at first, then gaining speed, while I tremble beneath him, lost in the sensation of his ass moving up and down my cock.

“Please,” he gasps. “Oh god, please. Fuck me.”

That’s all the invitation I need. I thrust up into him, matching the pace he set, but I know I won’t last much longer. He feels too good; everything about him, his taste, the feel of his skin, his tight ass around my dick.

I grab his hard cock and stroke him while I fuck him. His whole body trembles, and he’s losing his rhythm. He’s close.

“Shit, oh shit!” He comes across my stomach and chest.

I grab onto his hips and fuck into him hard and fast until I follow him over the edge.

“Holy shit,” he whispers and collapses against my chest. I hold him tightly, absently stroking my fingers through his hair while I catch my breath.

I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment and might have told him so if I could work up the energy to speak.

After a few minutes, he eases off me and rolls onto his back.

“I’m really glad you decided to pick up dinner,” I tell him, looking up at the ceiling and smirking.

He chuckles beside me. “You and me both, believe me.”

Finally, I work up the energy to roll off the bed and make my way into the bathroom, cleaning up my chest and stomach. I bring out a warm, wet washcloth and do the same for Dylan.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. His eyes are barely open. “I don’t think I could have worked up the energy to do that myself.”

“Well, you did do most of the work.”

He grins; his eyes are closing. “So nice of you to notice.”

By the time I dispose of the washcloth, make sure the door is locked and switch off the lights, Dylan is out.

I climb into bed beside him, throw my arm over his middle and drag him against me so his back is pressed against my chest, and I can press a soft kiss to the back of his head.

But while Dylan is sound asleep, I’m wide awake, spiraling quietly in the darkness. What in the hell just happened?

I don’t have an answer; all I know is I just had the best sex I’ve had in years. And great sex aside, no matter how I try to pretend otherwise, I don’t want to let Dylan go.

What we just did was so much better than when we were teenagers. Then, we were clumsy and unsure, exploring each other and our sexualities. Now, I know exactly what I want, and it’s Dylan.

But that isn’t an option.

I roll away from him, get out of bed, pull my underwear on, and duck into the bathroom. After I close the door, I click on the light and stare at myself in the mirror.

My hair is wild, and there’s a dark hickey forming just under my collarbone. Seeing Dylan’s mark on me sends a small thrill through me.

I can’t think this way. I have to remember there’s no future with Dylan. This is just sex, but I know that’s not true. The longer I’m with Dylan, the more I feel for him. I know I’m making a huge mistake, but I can’t help it.

The unmistakable clink of a key turning in the lock cuts through the quiet, followed by the slow creak of the door opening.

Chapter Sixteen