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I meet his eyes in the mirror, excitement and adrenalin bursting through me. This night is blowing all my expectations right out of the water. ‘That’s good.’
‘Yeah?’
He moves his hands to my hips, guiding me backwards, then presses a palm between my shoulder blades, encouraging me to bend forward.
‘I want to watch you as I take you like this,’ he grunts, and the command of his words is a heady aphrodisiac. I bite down on my lip and when I see the way his eyes cling to the gesture, the obvious arousal that moves across his face, I keep doing it, my eyes on his holding a silent challenge.
‘You’re so fucking hot.’ He says it as if that’s a complaint.
Warmth fills my veins. ‘Fascinating. But I thought you wanted to fuck me?’ I prompt with an attempt at impatience that I don’t quite pull off. My voice is breathy.
His hands grip my hips, holding me still, and his knee separates my legs a little. I keep my teeth pressed to my lip and not a second later he drives his rock-hard arousal into me in one deep, powerful thrust, so I cry out, because his possession is so complete. I brace my palms on the glass top of the table, closing my eyes for a second, but his hands reach around and tweak my nipples hard. Startled, my eyes dart towards his in the reflection.
‘I want to watch you and I want you to watch too.’
I don’t even think of disagreeing. This is so goddamned hot.
He pulls at my nipples as he thrusts into me and every single fibre of my being is on fire, I feel as though I’m about to explode. He keeps one hand on my breast and moves the other to my clit, strumming me with his fingers as he drives himself into me and I orgasm in a way I didn’t know possible, all of me splitting apart completely at the seams, so I feel as if my body is in a thousand and one different cells of stardust and pleasure.
I have never been made love to like this. I have never known any kind of pleasure even close to this. The hand on my clit eases off a little, slides around my hip to my butt, where he starts to knead the flesh there, radiating more intense pleasure that I can barely tolerate. It’s almost too much.
Almost.
Many times I almost close my eyes, but his missive remains in my mind. And watching him—this—me—brings a new level of realness to what I’m feeling. It’s the invocation of a different sense, one that layers extra urgency and intensity to the passion that’s overcoming us. I cry his name as another orgasm begins to build. I say his name over and over again, as though I’m casting a spell, as though I’m begging, as though I’m mad. I say his name and when I come this time, he says my name too, just once, a guttural noise that burrows deep into my core and buries itself there. He grips my hips tightly and holds himself deep inside me, so I feel every flex and spasm of his cock as his own release wrenches him from this real world, makes him, for a moment, a being without consciousness. He stares at me though, his c
heeks slashed with dark colour, his eyes vibrant with sexual triumph, his lips parted, his chest moving in rapid rises and falls as he sucks air into his lungs.
My own body is floating through space. I feel as if I’m being carried on a cloud, as though I’m suddenly weightless. Every part of me is alive. I mean that. Every single cell in my body vibrates and trembles so I know they’re there. I have never felt more alive and awake and fucking fantastic in my life. If this is a high then I could become an addict.
Addicted to great sex. Not Zach. I would never be so stupid as to let myself get addicted to any one man, let alone one like this. It’s just enough of a sobering thought to have me distancing myself from the moment, pushing up a little, so he takes the cue and steps backward, removing himself from me in a way that I can only say makes my body ache with a sudden sense of emptiness.
I watch in the mirror as he turns his back on me and walks away, heading to the bathroom. A moment later he returns with a towel wrapped around his waist, meeting my eyes in the mirror for a moment before striding to the champagne bottle. He carries it towards me, a smile shifting over his lips, a question in his eyes.
‘That was...amazing,’ I surprise myself by saying. It’s not my norm to praise men like him—as if his ego needs any more stroking.
‘Just what I was thinking.’ He kisses my shoulder from behind, his stubbly chin invoking more senses, different sensations, spreading goosebumps over me.
He puts a hand on my hip, encouraging me to turn to face him. I do, and our bodies brush, my oh-so-sensitive nipples pressing to his chest, sending little arrows darting through me. He lifts the champagne to my lips once more and I open, letting him pour a little into my mouth.
‘I enjoyed that. A lot.’
‘You’re talking in the past tense,’ I murmur—another surprise.
He lifts a brow. ‘You mean you’re not desperate for me to leave you now?’
‘I thought we agreed on one night?’
He grins, taking a drink of the champagne before putting the bottle on the dressing table behind me then shifting his hands to my butt. His eyes are focussed over my shoulder, so I know he’s watching the reflection in the mirror, watching as his fingers pummel the round curves of my butt, massaging me in a way that I desperately need, soothing aches, promising pleasure.
‘Besides. That would be a waste of champagne. And oysters.’
He nods sagely. ‘Indeed.’ He moves away from me, holding a hand out for me to put mine in it.
I resist. ‘You go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.’
He doesn’t push the point but nods, leaning forward and kissing my lips quickly before leaving the room. My stomach clenches. When I turn and look in the mirror I have a huge smile on my face.
* * *
