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‘Millie...’ He says my name in the same way I said his, one brow cocked, sardonic curiosity on his features. I swallow, and I can no longer let him dictate the pace of this. I am so hungry for him. My body is on fire and he’s trickling water on me with a teaspoon.
‘I want you to fuck me.’
And my hands lift to his chest. I push him with all my might; he falls backwards onto the bed, laughing a little. But I straddle him immediately and he’s not laughing now. I feel his hard dick between my legs and I am wet, and desperate.
‘Stupid pants,’ I grunt, reaching between my legs and finding his belt buckle. My fingers fumble and I swear softly again under my breath, rolling off him so he can take over. He pushes at his trousers, lifting his ass so he can get them off while lying down. His boxers follow.
‘Stupid pants,’ he agrees, but he brings his body over mine, his eyes seeking answers I don’t have, and then he’s kissing me, hard and in a way that makes my insides tremble. His fingers lace with mine, trapping my hands beside me, and his arousal teases me—there’s no other way to describe it. He’s so close, and I arch my back and lift my legs around him, inviting him to take me, but he only kisses me. He kisses me in a way that makes my soul ache, but I am hungry for so much more and I will not be satisfied with kisses.
I am alive with passions that are driven by an instinct I can’t quell.
‘Please...’ I run my fingernails down his back, digging my fingers into the toned cheeks of his ass.
He drags his mouth down my body, finding a nipple and flicking it with his tongue. It’s like sparking a flame near a stove-top. My body incinerates. I writhe beneath him. He moves to the other nipple, his fingers on my sides, gentle, slow, teasing, and then he drags his mouth lower, and I whimper when his tongue traces over my clit, driving me to the edge of the world as I know it.
I want to tell him to stop with the delay. I want him. His cock. Sex. Not this. But I do want this. I want to have my cake and to eat it too. I smile as he runs a finger over my seam, and then inside me, and then another finger, and his mouth kisses my most private place and I see stars and the heat of this pleasure, at the perfection of this.
And then, for the briefest, most agonising moment, he is gone. I lie there, my breath stretched, my lungs burning. There is a crinkle of something and when I push up onto my elbows he is sliding a condom over his length, his eyes watching me.
‘Don’t ever sleep with a guy who doesn’t respect you enough to protect you, Millie.’ His eyes flare and my heart turns over at his edict, given without a hint of anything other than his trademark control.
‘Cross my heart.’
His grin is just a flash on his face and then he’s back on top of me, kissing me more slowly now, but with so much intensity I would have fallen to my knees if I’d been standing up. It’s a moment of perfection. His strong thigh nudges my legs further apart; I lift my feet to the mattress, bending my knees, and he kisses me while the tip of his cock pushes at my entrance.
I hold my breath, I hold my everything—I feel like something is about to change, something monumental. We’ve slept together before—I know what this is. I’m not the virgin I was when I propositioned him, and yet this is different. I’m conscious of that difference, of this feeling. I’m conscious of all of him. I hold my breath until my lungs are burning inside me. All of me is on fire.
* * *
She’s so tight. My cock pushes inside her slowly. I groan, dipping down and kissing her. I kiss her, tasting her, rolling her tongue with mine, knotting our fingers together, and I push in deeper.
She squeezes my length; her tig
htness is like a vice. I deserve a fucking medal for being able to control this—even for someone like me, who controls all aspects of my life, this is something else.
I ease into her, stroking her hair, lifting up to look at her because suddenly I can’t not look at her. And she smiles at me; the most beautiful smile, and then bites down on her lip, pulling me back to her.
Our lips mesh, our tongues too, and finally I drive myself into her, all of me, all of her, and we are one again, like I’ve been needing since this morning, and the night before, and every time I’ve fucked her and knew I would be counting down until I could have her again.
There is urgency stoking me and I bury myself in her tightness and then I drop my head to the curve of her neck, kissing her there, feeling her soft breasts press to my chest as I move. She calls my name over and over; my name on her lips is an art form and a gift. She calls my name over and over as she comes and I hold her and kiss her, swallowing my name, my pleasure-soaked name, and I tip her over the edge, controlling my own orgasm with a monumental effort of restraint. She is quivering beneath me, her body like jelly, her breathing loud, her face flushed.
Fuck!
I am on top of the world. Seeing her like this, knowing I did that to her—it is a feeling beyond compare. Every macho instinct I possess roars inside me, beating my chest. I prop up on my elbows and she smiles at me slowly and, damn it, I lose a piece of myself in that moment.
I kiss her and she wraps her legs around my waist, holding me where I am, her muscles squeezing me, and I move my hips, a slower tempo now, moving deeper, driving into her gently, feeling every pulse of motion either of us makes, and then I am fighting my own inevitable break and she’s crying out again and this time, when she arches her back and succumbs to her orgasm, I tip into her, my own pleasure exploding within me, so we find our release together. I hold her tight, a guttural sound comes from deep within my core and then there is silence.
My head drops forward, pressing to her chest, and I feel her heart, its rapid, racing urgency, and I smile against her, listening to her lungs expelling air, her blood rushing, her body’s tempo.
It is like the beating of a drum, a marching that is in sync with time’s passage. I listen to it. I listen to time moving beyond us, and I hold onto this moment for as long as I can.
CHAPTER NINE
‘HOW OLD WERE YOU?’ I’m not even sure he’s not asleep. I lie on the soft mattress, staring out at a sparkling New York city, my back pressed to his tight body, his arm clamped over me. His breathing is rhythmic and neither of us has spoken for some time.
Silence.
I expel a soft breath and my body brushes against his. Alertness lashes me.
