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Deep.
There was no such thing as control right then as the need gripped our systems.
My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer so our lips could find each other’s again, muffling the sounds of pleasure in the echoey space.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growled against my lips as he drove me closer and closer, making my walls tighten around his cock.
If I could manage words right then, I would tell him the same.
“Feel how you’re squeezing me?” he asked, fucking me faster, knowing how close I was. “Come around my cock,” he demanded.
And just like that, I did.
He fucked me through it, but came with me, both of us crushing our lips together, trying to keep the pleasure of that moment between the two of us.
“Did that solve the problem?” he asked, climbing back in after dealing with the condom, dripping water carelessly all over the bathroom floor in the process.
“I dunno,” I said, leaning into him when he pulled me flush against his front, my breasts crushing against his chest. “I have a feeling that this might be, you know, an ongoing issue in need of treatment.”
“Really? That sounds pretty serious,” he said, shooting me a devilish smirk. “Just know I take your health very seriously, so anytime you need more… treatment, you just let me know,” he said, and we were both still smiling as his lips pressed to mine.
Softer.
Sweeter.
Then, and I kid you not, this man reached for the body wash… and started to wash me. His hands slid over damn near every inch of my body, igniting tiny fires that sizzled out because the moment wasn’t meant to be sexual. Just… intimate.
When he was finished, I reached for the bottle too, doing the same for him, getting to know every inch of his perfect body. Every jagged and smooth scar. Every birthmark. Every tattoo. And I had a fun time trying to figure out which of his were done professionally, and which were done with a pen and a needle inside prison walls when officers weren’t watching.
By the time we climbed out of that shower, I was pruny and absolutely exhausted. But… happy.
God, I don’t know if I even remembered the last time I actually felt happy.
Satisfied for a job well-done? Sure. Glad my sister was away from her abusive ex and getting her future sorted out? Absolutely.
But happy just for myself?
Years?
Longer?
I didn’t know.
All I did know was that nothing had ever felt quite as right as being wrapped up in Salvatore’s tee. That is, of course, until I woke up in the middle of the night wrapped in his arms.
I had no idea how I’d gotten there.
Ever-aware of not wanting to come off as too clingy, I’d curled up on my side facing him, but not trying to snuggle into him.
Had he reached for me?
Had I rolled into him, giving him no choice?
It had been so long since I’d shared a bed with a man that I kind of had no idea what my mattress-sharing etiquette was like anymore.
“I’m gonna go put the coffee on,” Salvatore said, giving me a squeeze, then releasing me.
Did I roll over in the bed to watch him walk shirtless out of the room? You bet your ass I did.
