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“Cora...” He says my name. His blue eyes are fixed on mine. I don’t know what he plans to say, but my lips part, and I know I don’t want to wait any longer.
I reach for him, and then he’s reaching for me too. His lips descend on mine, his tongue tasting, seeking, exploring, and setting flame to the very core of me. I can’t wait to give him everything, to feel him everywhere. Desire suffuses my body until it barely feels like mine anymore, just like one incomplete half of a whole that includes him.
Always him.
“Oh God, Tristan.”
His hands are on my back, molding my body to his as he devours my lips. The years melt away, and all I want is to touch him. My fingers tangle in his hair I breathe him in, luxuriating in his scent, his taste. His hands start to roam over my hips, cupping my butt, up along my sides, my breasts.
God.
He makes a sound in his throat, harsh and rough, somewhere between a moan and a growl.
He kisses me hungrily, as if he needs to consume me. I feel feverish with desire, knowing the only thing that will satisfy me is a fusing of our very flesh. I want, need him to peel back all my layers, strip me bare until nothing separates me from him.
“I’m going to make love to you,” he whispers. “All night.”
Pleasure and anticipation shoot through me. “Take me to your bed,” I whisper.
He smiles. A familiar half-smile that lifts only one side of his mouth, then, without a word, he lifts me off my feet, only putting me down when we are in his bedroom. He lets me fall back on his soft bed, then joins me, covering my quivering body with his. His lips find mine again, adding more fuel to the fire of desire raging through my body.
I want to touch him, so badly. My fingers search for the buttons of his shirt, trying to undo them as we kiss. Finally, impatiently, he releases my lips and tears off the shirt, then rolls off the bed to remove his pants. I pull my sweater over my head, eager to be naked. My pants follow. Then I reach for my bra fastening, but pause to watch him discard his briefs, and for a moment all I can do is stare at his virile, powerful arousal.
He joins me on the bed and reaches behind me to undo my bra. “Let me.”
His voice is thick and gravelly, reeking of sex and lust. He pulls the straps off my shoulders, his fingers stroking my skin gently. I’m shuddering, wanting, my insides quivering with need. He tosses the bra and cups my breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking my nipples, teasing them until they swell and harden even more than before, until my back arches and I’m begging him to use his mouth.
He obliges, taking one nipple between his lips and sliding one hand between my legs at the same time. I cry out with pleasure as his fingers stroke me, slowly, masterfully. Like he knows me.
Like he owns me.
I clasp his arms, and his muscles bunch under my palms, reminding me of the pure masculine power and strength of his body. I feel like I can’t breathe, like the whole world had contracted into the points of pleasure where he’s touching me.
“Tristan,” I gasp, pleading for release. His fingers continue to stroke me. He licks around my nipple, then lifts his head to whisper soft words in my ear.
“You’re beautiful.”
Oh God.
“Perfect.”
Oh.
“Exquisite.”
Tristan!
“Let it go, Cora,” he urges softly. Then, like the devil, he licks a sensitive spot below my ear.
I scream his name as everything explodes. My body seizes, my legs tighten, and still his fingers stroke me, drawing out my climax until I’m a shuddering wreck in the middle of the bed.
When I finally bring myself to look at him, he’s smiling.
“What are you smirking about?” I’m suddenly shy, not regretful, but somehow unable to meet his eyes.
He takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him. “I’m smiling because I love to watch you lose control when you climax. It’s a beautiful thing to see.”
I roll my eyes. “Weirdo.”
