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Still ticklish.
He wanted to know these things. Would she still sigh when he put his mouth on her sex? Would she still close her fingers around his hair as he brought her close to orgasm with his tongue?
He leaned back and pressed her legs open. She was so wet that beads of desire shone on her folds. He let his eyes travel up her body to her face and was surprised to find her looking at him, eyes wide open.
There was a storm of emotion there that he was afraid to interpret. He bent his head and ran his tongue through her folds and was rewarded with the sigh he remembered, her body sinking down another inch, making it clear what she wanted.
He ran his thumb along the opening to her channel as he licked her clit, making slow circles until she picked up his rhythm. He closed his mouth over the swollen bud and sucked, relishing the sound of her voice crying out into the room.
Her hips came off the bed as he put more pressure on her clit with his tongue, his cock demanding to be brought home inside her body. He forced himself to put the sensation aside, to lose himself in the petal-soft folds of her pussy, the sweet taste of her on his tongue, her engorged clit evidence of her need for him.
He let her take the lead, waiting until her hips moved faster, the press of her mound against his mouth more insistent. Then he slid his fingers inside her while he sucked on her clit.
She gasped, and he groaned as she wrapped her fingers in his hair and tugged, a jolt of pain traveling down his spine, morphing into desire at the tip of his cock. He fucked her with his fingers, letting them slide through her slippery heat as he alternately licked her clit and rubbed it with his thumb.
“Nolan…” His name was a whimper on her lips. “Please…”
He matched the pace of her hips, licking her faster, plunging his fingers inside her, withdrawing them only long enough to embed them in her again, his mouth and hands working in concert until she was struggling for breath.
“I’m going to come, Nolan.”
He felt it in her body, in the quickening pace of her hips and the tension in her thighs and the swelling of her channel around his fingers as she came closer to the pinnacle.
He closed his mouth on her clit and sucked hard, drawing the peak into his mouth. For a split second she seemed to freeze. Then she was shuddering , crying out into the room as she came, her pussy clamping down on his fingers, flooding them with the moisture of her desire as the contractions rolled through her body in wave after wave that threatened to loose his own orgasm, coiled like a beast and demanding release.
He didn’t stop moving his fingers, didn’t stop lapping at her clit until he was sure she was done. Then he rose onto his knees and reached into the nightstand for a condom.
She watched him through hooded eyes as he rolled it onto his cock, then she reached for him.
“I’ve been waiting forever to feel you inside me."
15
She could have looked at him all night, his chest and arms sculpted and defined, his tapered waist leading to powerful thighs, the cock that rose thick and magnificent between his legs.
Her memory, her imagination, hadn’t done him justice.
She should have been satiated. The orgasm he’d delivered with his mouth and fingers had shaken her like a hurricane, opening up fault lines in her body she’d paved over long ago.
It only made her want him more.
He positioned his crown at her opening and stretched over her body. Stroking the hair back from her head, he lowered his mouth to hers as he sank into her. She couldn’t contain her sigh. She wanted to pause and memorize every second of their becoming.
He didn’t stop until he was buried. Her body, long empty, had to stretch to accommodate him. He nipped at her lower lip, his tongue lighting a blaze that had her moving against him in seconds, her body primed and ready.
Remembering.
He withdrew slowly, then reached for her hands and stretched them over her head. He hovered at her opening, looking at her with something that could have been anger or desire. Maybe it was both.
“This is how it was meant to be, Bridget. Do you remember?”
“I remember.”
And God help her, she did. She remembered what it meant to be joined with him. To be one.
She remembered what it meant to feel like someone was part of you at a cellular level, that they were inside your skin, woven into the marrow of your bones, their heart beating in time to your own.
“You never stopped being mine,” he said, his body still. “Say it.”
