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He pushes at the waist of my leggings, bends to drag them down my legs. My fingers work at the button of his jeans, pulling them down his hips, both of us still kissing and kissing—nibbling and feasting on each other’s mouths.
There’s no awkwardness, or hesitation. We’ve been here before. Our lips, our hands, and our hearts remember.
We move together across the room until I feel the bed against the backs of my knees. Garrett’s hands knead my breasts, slide down my stomach, slipping between my legs, rubbing and petting my soft, slick lips.
“Callie,” he groans. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He kisses me hard, sipping at my lips, then drinking deep, murmuring. “So hot.”
And then my fingers are wrapping around him, sliding and pumping the hot, silken steel of his erection in my hand. He’s so hard, so aroused. My thumb caresses the head of his cock, rubbing the fervent moisture at the tip.
And it makes me feel beautiful. Sexy and powerful . . . and wanted.
We fall back on the bed. I spread my legs wide for him, open and offering everything to him.
Take me, love me. Anything he wants . . . it’s always been like this between us.
His lips slide down my throat to my nipple and my head digs into the pillow, my back arching, as Garrett suckles me hard. His hair is silk between my fingers as he moves to my other breast, and my head spins with the sensations. My pulse pounds with the weighted pleasure of his hot mouth on me.
My memories of loving Garrett are pale and flimsy compared to this. This is real and solid . . . and us. How did I breathe without this? How will I exist without it?
That dark thought is swept away when Garrett lifts onto his knees, between my thighs. He stretches his long arm to the nightstand, grabbing a condom. I run my hands up and down his torso while he rips open the square foil package—I like the way my hands look on him. Garrett takes his cock in his hand—and I love the look of that too—the way he touches himself, rolling the condom over his thick erection, pinching the latex at the tip and running a hand over his heavy balls. Every movement is sure and confident and so erotically male.
My tongue peeks out to lick my lip—I want him everywhere at once. I want to take him in my mouth, swallow him down, deep in my throat. I want him buried inside me, thrusting hard and rough—I want to feel his hot come on my skin, on my breasts and my stomach and my ass. There is no off-limits, there is no wrong for us—there’s only insatiable and desperate, dirty and deeper—more and yes and good.
Garrett grabs my hip, jerking me downwards, and he slides the blunt head of his cock through my lips, where I’m slippery and hot. My muscles clench, feeling empty. He rubs himself against my clit, circling and stroking, sending waves of white bliss screaming up my spine.
I brace my feet on the bed and lift my hips, begging him without words for more.
For him.
“Callie.”
His rough voice pulls me through the fog of lust, bringing my eyes to his. His jaw is tight with anticipation and his chest rises and falls in ragged breaths.
“Callie, baby, watch. Watch me . . .”
I nod jerkily. I’ll do anything, give him anything he asks, as long as he doesn’t stop touching me.
He pushes against my opening and I moan, my knees spreading wider, aching for him deeper. I’m small, narrow, and there’s something so mesmerizing about watching Garrett’s hands on his big cock—watching him slowly push inside me.
He inhales sharply at the sensations, the feelings.
And, dear God, I feel it too. My tight muscles clench around him, making just enough room as he slides in—so hot and hard. So . . . so good. Our pelvises meet and Garrett’s chin drops to his chest as he’s nestled, buried fully inside me.
“Fuuuck,” he moans. “Fuck me . . .”
And then he’s dropping to his elbows on either side of my head, kissing me roughly. He pulls his hips back, then slides all the way back in. And we moan together. He begins a rhythm, a smooth, thrusting glide in and out. A constant forward movement and retreat, fucking me steady.
I breathe jagged, nonsensical words into his open-mouthed kiss.
“Garrett . . . Garrett . . . it’s so good.”
“I know,” he groans, flexing his hips, touching me so deep inside. “I know, baby.”
“It’s so right.” I grasp at the strong, taut muscles of his back, sliding my hands down, pressing against his hard, clenching ass. “So . . . right.”
Every touch, every kiss that wasn’t his felt . . . different. Not bad, not uncomfortable—but different. Not the same. Not this.
