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“I’m not the one who ate four pieces of bacon and a pile of home fries.”
He lifts his head just long enough to wink and retort, “Then I’ll have to do all the work.”
I wouldn't stop him if I could, because already I'm wet again, aching, like my body has a mind of its own. He settles between my legs and I wrap them around his hips, sighing in contentment when he kisses me deeply. I can't imagine ever getting tired of touching him, letting my hands roam under his robe until I slide them over his shoulders. His broad, muscular shoulders, just as muscular as the arms caging me against his firm, warm body.
We aren't even fully undressed before there's a familiar and welcome pressure between my thighs. It was during a brief break in the evening’s activities that we discussed our histories. We're both disease free and I'm on the pill, so there's no stopping for a condom this time.
“My God,” I groan as he pushes forward, filling me again, stretching me with his thick member.
He claims my mouth with his, our tongues dancing, the delicious friction building with every stroke. I moan into his mouth and he groans back, the sound a rumble in his chest that only heightens my excitement. He wants this as much as I do. I have what it takes to please him, to light his fire, to satisfy him. Me. He wants me.
He breaks the kiss, gazing down at me while rolling his hips and deepening his stroke. “Oh, yeah,” I groan, moving with him. “Just like that. I want to feel every inch of you.”
“I think I died and went to heaven.” He closes his eyes, his jaw going tight, and I drink in his beauty. The morning sunlight plays off his skin until it glows, highlighting his chiseled face until it makes my chest hurt to look at him. What is happening to me? What’s already happened?
The source of the growing tension in my core is easier to identify. “So big,” I whisper. “Fuck me harder, Sawyer. Make me come again.” My nails drag down his back, drawing a hiss of pain that quickly turns to a guttural moan.
And a flurry of deep, almost brutal thrusts that leave me helpless, writhing and panting until the tension is too much. Until an explosion goes off deep inside that sends ripples of pleasure shooting through me and there’s nothing to do but shout. “Yes! Yes!”
“So tight…” I can barely hear him even when he growls it close to my ear. “So fucking tight… Willow… oh, fuck…!” A rush of warmth paired with his deep grunts make me smile even while I shudder in release. There’s a satisfaction that goes beyond the physical. Something like pride, I guess. I do this to him. He’s able to lose himself in me, to be totally vulnerable.
I can’t lose myself in him.
He collapses for a second but is quick to push himself up on his palms. He’s wearing a soft, drowsy sort of smile and I’ll be damned if I haven’t already lost myself. At least, that’s what the butterflies in my stomach are telling me.
I know who this man is. I know what he’s like and can guess how he feels about commitment. This can’t be more than sex.
No matter how much it feels like it is.
