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“Press,” she pleaded, her body jerking as I fluttered my tongue over her clit. I slid one finger into her wetness, and while I continued to ravish her with my tongue, I watched as her pleasure built. I licked down, delving deeper into her wetness, where soon, I would join our bodies together.
Luisa writhed and wove her fingers in my hair when I pressed my tongue against her clit.
“Press!” she shouted more than cried, tugging my hair. I held her hips still, swirled my tongue, and bent my finger inside her as she rode out her climax. Her eyes, tightly shut, eventually opened wide, and her gaze met mine. “Press,” she repeated, the word sounding more like the purr of a kitten.
I shifted my body upward, using one arm to hold myself above her, and brought my mouth to hers. Her impassioned kiss dizzied me. My realization that I had no condoms left me feeling nearly bereft. I rolled to my side, still kissing her, stroking her hair.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her gaze so penetrating I felt we were connected through our eyes alone.
I cupped her cheek. “It is with the deepest regret I say I have no condoms, my darling.”
Stunning me again, Luisa smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“I believe you’re mistaken.”
I pulled back and studied her, unable to keep my smile from matching hers. “If you’re right, I would be the happiest man alive.”
“So easily pleased,” she teased, wriggling from my arms. She walked into the lavatory that separated my room from Beau’s and returned with not just one condom, but a box.
“I was looking for a Q-tip earlier and stumbled upon these,” she said, holding it out to me. “Oh, and I checked to make sure they haven’t expired.”
I took the box from Luisa’s hand, set it behind me on the bed, pulled her into my arms, and continued kissing her as we’d been before.
“Happiest man alive,” I repeated as I plucked one silver packet from the box, tore it open, and rolled it on.
“Happiest woman alive,” Luisa said, pushing me onto my back. She straddled my hips and positioned my cock at her entrance. I put my hands on her waist, helping to slowly ease her onto me.
She was hot, wet, and so tight my eyes nearly rolled back in my head when I was finally buried as deep as I could go. I allowed Luisa to set her own pace, take her own pleasure, until my resolve finally snapped.
I rolled her under me, thrusting into her, pulling out slowly, then repeating the rhythm again and again. When I felt Luisa’s body clenching mine, I brought my lips to hers, and we stared into each other’s eyes. I had to feel connected to her in every way possible the first time she and I experienced the ultimate pleasure at the same time. I broke our kiss only long enough to roar my release and Luisa cried my name. When she raised her head and our lips met once again, I could feel the dampness of her tears.
“Luisa?”
She smiled but shook her head as more tears spilled onto her cheeks.
I brushed them with the pad of my thumb. “Tell me, did I hurt you, my darling?”
“No, Press. You didn’t hurt me. It’s the opposite. I never knew... I mean, I’ve never felt anything like that. It was…I don’t think there’s even a word for it.”
“I can think of one, pet.”
“Tell me.”
“Love.”
Luisaand I spent the rest of the day pleasuring one another’s bodies and vowing to spend every New Year’s Day just like this. When she said, “For the rest of our lives,” my heart nearly burst with joy. I studied her, waiting for a sign she’d voiced more than she meant, but her eyes bored into mine as though she was waiting for me to challenge her or disagree.
I so wanted to hold her to it, ask her to be my wife, and ensure I’d spend every day with her, not just the first of the year. I resisted the urge to be so reckless, not because of insecurity, but because I knew it would completely overwhelm Luisa. This thing between us was days old—for her. She’d said she wasn’t sure she knew how love felt. Once she did, then I’d propose. Luisa would never say the words unless she was certain she meant them. It was one of many things I admired about her.
The hardest thing, I found, was for me to take a step back and let her work through her feelings, especially her fear. I could assure her once an hour I’d keep her safe, but the fear that plagued her when she slept or when she got lost in thought and saw the signs of a panic attack coming on was something she had to process. No matter how many times she wrote a fear on a piece of paper and threw it into the fire, it wouldn’t make any of it go away. Nor could I make it go away.
“What shall we do today?” I asked when we finally rolled out of bed on the second day of the year and made our way down to the kitchen.
“We should work,” she responded emphatically.
“So anxious to start the daily grind?”
