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He kisses me for a long time, covering my face—my cheeks, my eyebrows, my nose, back to my mouth—and then slides his tongue into my mouth so it tangles with mine. I sigh and stroke the longer hair on the top of his head and the shorter strands on the back, circle his nape, then slide my hand down. I can tell he works out by the muscles in his neck and shoulders, and I stroke over his taut pecs and defined abs, the muscles around his waist and hips and butt, and his strong thigh where it’s hooked over mine.
Mmm… my body is stirring as he arouses all my senses. He’s been stroking my back, arms, shoulders, and face, but as he brushes his hand down to my breasts, I shiver with pleasure.
The last time we had sex, we’d both had quite a bit to drink, and it was nighttime, and everything was unfamiliar—the location, the luxury, and the gorgeous guy who’d chosen me to take back to his room. It was exciting, but I felt as if it was a fluke, as if he’d mixed me up with someone else, a case of mistaken identity. I was about to leave the city and embark on my new life, with no idea how it was going to go.
But it’s so different now. I haven’t had a drink for four months. We’re lying in this beautiful house, and it’s broad daylight, and even though I’ve not known him for long, he’s not a stranger to me anymore. Everything is bright, clear. The sun is streaming through the window over the bed, and I feel warm and safe.
I would have assumed a one-night stand with someone I’d never met would be sexier and more exciting, but it’s not a patch on making love with this gorgeous guy. I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.
He kisses down to my breasts, cups one in his warm hand, teases the nipple with his thumb, then closes his mouth over it. Ohhh… that switches me from warm to sizzling, and I know he’s feeling the same as I graze my nails down his back and he shudders.
We rediscover each other slowly, with hands and mouths, and I don’t object when he tosses back the duvet and lifts up so he can kiss down my body. He takes his time over my breasts, licking and sucking until my nipples are hard and wet as pebbles in a stream, and then he kisses down over my bump, using his tongue as if he’s trying to lick off every freckle. While he does that, he strokes up my thighs, and then finally he parts them and slips his fingers down into the heart of me.
I sigh and close my eyes while his expert fingers tease me, stroking, circling, then sliding inside me. He’s gentle but firm, and by the time he moves up to kiss my mouth again, I’m filled with an ache deep inside.
He shifts onto his back and says, “I want to see you,” so I lift up and straddle him. I thought I’d feel nervous and embarrassed, but he pulls a pillow beneath his head, makes himself comfortable, and says, “Time to enjoy the view,” and all I feel is beautiful, as he strokes his hands over me, his eyes filled with nothing but admiration.
Moving so the tip of his erection presses against me, I lower down and carefully impale myself on him.
Closing his eyes, he says, “Fuck,” with such feeling that it makes me glow. I close my eyes too, adjusting to him, and reveling at having him inside me again. Slowly, I begin to move, rocking my hips so he slides in and out of me, and at the same time he pushes up to meet me, moving in perfect harmony. The song has changed to Mayer’sEdge of Desire, such a fucking sexy song that only stirs me even more.
When I open my eyes, he’s watching me, a sexy smile on his face, his eyes hot with passion. I lean forward, hands either side of his head, and look down at him.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I say. “I think you’re actually quite a kinky bastard.”
“That’s harsh.”
“So the reason you want more children isn’t because it keeps me pregnant?”
He smirks. “Might be.”
“Mr. Caveman,” I murmur, lowering down to kiss him. “You’re positively Neanderthal.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He grabs me and twists, carefully shifting so I’m beneath him. Supporting himself on his hands, he angles his thrusts so he’s not leaning on me. “You look so beautiful. You’re blooming, Miss O’Clery.”
I let him take my hands and pin them above my head, holding me there while he slides inside me. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
He closes his eyes, and I know he’s concentrating on the sensations inside him. “I’ve missed this,” I whisper. “Missed having you inside me.”
His eyes flutter open, hot and hazy. “Me too.”
“I used to lie there at night, in the dark, remembering what we did. How you made me feel.”
He lowers down and kisses me. “Did you touch yourself?” he asks lazily, nibbling my bottom lip.
“See, there’s me being all romantic, and you have to go and intervene with your kinky mind.”
“I don’t think being interested in your girl masturbating is kinky.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He gives a short laugh. “Kinky means unconventional or deviant. I’m telling you that all guys find the thought of girls touching themselves hot.” He surveys me, still moving inside me. “You don’t find the idea of me touching myself hot?”
I look up into his eyes, my lips parting at the thought of him taking himself in hand, stroking himself slowly.
“Thought so,” he says. His fingers curl around mine, his hips beginning to move faster.
I groan, arching my back, and he carries on like that for a while, until I’m just starting to feel the approach of an orgasm, before he slows, releases my hands, then withdraws. I sigh with frustration and, chuckling, he rolls me onto my side and moves close behind me, his chest to my back. Adjusting his hips, he gets the angle right, then slides inside me with one easy thrust.
