Page 87 of Stealing Blinds

“I was tested in April. I’m clean, and I’ve never gone bare before.” Hope and conflict clash in his eyes. “But if you want to see the results, we can pull them up on my phone or go down to my room and get a condom. I don’t have one up here.”

“I’m clean, too, and I trust you.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize how true that is. I’m confident that what he said is how it will always be—he’d never hurt me intentionally.

What’s even more profound is how exhilarating that statement is for him. His whole demeanor lightens. That’s all he wanted—to know that I trusted him.

He shifts me so my head is at the far end of the raft. It must be at least six feet long, so there’s space beyond my feet. Once he guides the float so the upper portion is docked on the sun shelf for extra support, he climbs up. We rock, and it bows, but it seems sturdy enough for both of us. He kneels in front of me, lifting my ass to rest on his thighs with my feet planted on his chest.

Amusement paints his face as he peers around us. “I made sure no one will come out here, so don’t worry about that. But this may have been one of those better-in-my-head ideas.”

The setting is undeniably romantic. Flames and water and the glow of the city reflected in the pool. Night air and cloudy skies. But, yeah, balance may be an issue.

I smile, gratified that yet another element of this is a first for him. “I’m a former gymnast, and you’re a”—I flap my hand in front of him—“godlike freak of nature. If our first time didn’t involve some acrobatic feat, I’d be disappointed in us.”

“Agreed.” He huffs a chuckle that fades to feral lust as he swipes the pierced tip of his cock through my pussy. “You’re so wet for me. Are you ready?”

My hips punch forward of their own volition before I furnish his requested and earned plea. “So ready. I need you.”

“Fucking perfect.” He hovers over me, one hand braced beside my head, causing my knees to bend toward my shoulders as he teases my opening. “I’m gonna go slow so you can adjust to my size and the piercings. You’ll come before I’m fully seated, but we’re just getting started.”

All the air in my lungs vacates. That seductive confidence is a fatal demolition, all on its own, so I don’t doubt the veracity of his claim. My pesky pride determines to outlast his expectations though.

But as he thrusts into me, even the first inch has my back arching and a tingling wildfire in my center. An unbidden moan flees my lips and harmonizes with Lana Del Rey’s “Lust for Life,” blaring from my phone. The vertical barbell through his head scrapes against my G-spot, and his girth stretches me with a delectable discomfort.

What the hell is happening? He’s barely inside me, and I’m already trembling.

“You’re breathtaking, Sylv. And you feel so damn good.” He moves in and out, shallow penetration that helps me acclimate but also has that apadravya piercing scraping the euphoric target repeatedly. “Beyond any fantasy I’ve ever had.”

“Ahh,” I wheeze, silver streaks flitting before me as a current of ecstasy builds between my thighs and low in my abdomen. “Oh fu—oh fuck.”

His mouth descends upon my breast, his teeth taunting my peaked nipple, his eyes anchored to mine with so much vehemence that I feel more alive than I ever have. I scratch my nails down his taut back and weave my fingers into his hair, helping us balance as the raft waffles from his gentle pumps and my swiveling hips.

So many sensations are rocketing through me that I can’t discern how many of his horizontal barbells are inside me. I lift my head, eager to see him moving in and out of me. There’s only a sliver of space between our shimmering bodies, but I salivate as I stare down the tunnel at his cock pumping into me. Enamored. The view confirms what I felt. Four bars from his Jacob’s ladder have yet to enter.

I’m already so full. So gloriously full.

He studies me watching us, his lips glued to the side of my breast, and a growl thunders from his chest, the rumble of his awe surging through my every cell. Beckoning me closer to the blissful cliff that promises utter decimation.

“We’re a damn vision, huh, baby girl?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, riveted.

“Every inch of you tastes like …” His mouth migrates to my collarbone and neck and jaw and ear. His thumb circles my clit. His citrus-suede-and-seduction scent triumphs over the chlorine and the enchanting NOLA aroma. But it’s the veneration lacing his proclamation that wrecks me. “Home. You feel like home, Sly.”

And with one simple life-altering sentence, one languid pump, one fusion of his lips to mine, my limbs quiver, my inner walls tighten, and a hazy fog of rapture envelops me.

“I’m gonna …”

“I know, baby,” he rasps against my mouth. “Give it to me. Let me feel that weeping cunt choke my cock.”

Somehow, through my lust-drunk stupor, I flaunt a dopey smile with a smart-ass, “Who’s begging now, Noire?”

I think he laughs, but with my victorious mocking, my body detonates into a realm of shattered rhapsodies. My pores and veins and muscles and bones are upended as I teeter on the edge of this divine summit, finally declaring liftoff. An otherworldly sound is ripped from my depths, my body levitates, and my vision fogs and narrows. Until this rooftop escape evolves to a tsunami of euphoria that crashes over me, burying me in the beautiful fragments that led us here.

Moonlight and Mardi Gras. Tangoes and wheelies. Serendipitous stalking and forgotten friendship.

Cash and wholeness and freedom and a future.

I pant and purr, shake and shudder. And his thrusts and kisses and sensual brushes never cease.