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It makes me crazy to see it.
No longer able to think, I push him backwards until he’s past my living room and short hallway. Once in my bedroom, I turn on the bossiness I resort to during my most hectic of workdays.
“Down,” I order him to sit on my mattress. After he does, I point at his jeans. “Off.”
He discards his pants with admirable haste, and I become caught up in the masculine beauty of his form. There’s a line of coarse pale hair that points south like an arrow, as if commanding me to touch him. And rubbing my palm around that thick and veiny shaft is far better without the encumbrance of denim. The heat of him, the hardness, the perfection of his sculpted body overall is too much, and I nearly lose my sanity.
“Lie back.”
He follows my commands like a first day cadet until a wave of dizziness makes the room spin and I throw out my hands to steady myself. Then, he sits right back up.
“Hey, Vi. You all right? If you aren’t up for this… You know I think we should just slow this down for tonight. I don’t think you’re…” He lets his sentence trail into nothing, but it’d take a lot more than some bourbon to keep me from my prize.
Before another spell of dizziness can’t interrupt us, I spring onto the bed, straddle his lap, and sink down on his cock. And shit, he’s big. As intoobig. There’s so much of him I have to make room for, and the stretch stings a bit. I must make a hissing noise or something because he soothes me with both hands on my cheeks.
“Violet… Are you okay? I don’t want to hurt you. We can stop.” I’m feeling so snappish that I almost argue. But when I exhale, it helps, so I take another breath. “There you go. There’s my gorgeous girl.”
I know that I shouldn’t feel moved just because of one simple endearment, but even as I acknowledge this, my eyes burn. It’s not due to his erection being so large, either. Not anymore. He’s gazing up at me with so much sincerity, so much tenderness, and I didn’t anticipate that.
In a way, I don’twantit. It’s too overwhelming.
So, I shift upwards onto my knees until my body nearly disconnects from his before dropping like a stone back down. Since there’s no discomfort whatsoever anymore, I do it again, more quickly. It’s so delicious. Like I just took a bite of the most delectable ambrosia. I want more.
Accelerating my pace, I ride him hard, appreciating it even more when he levers his head up so he can take my right breast in his mouth. There’s this flash of fire that sizzles over every inch of my skin, and even though I’m not one to orgasm without plenty of patience and attention, somehow I’m coming.
Right now.
“Oh, Landon,oh…” I jabber on, not even cognizant of what I’m saying because it doesn’t matter.
It takes me by surprise when he flies up into a seated position all at once, still holding me on his lap as the vibrations of ecstasy reverberate throughout my system. Then, his arms cinch around me like a belt, and he groans softly into my ear. I loop my arms around his shoulders, unable and unwilling to let go.
* * *
The pins and needles of wakefulness only reach me by degrees the following morning.
Initially, all my concentration goes to the dull throb walloping the inside of my skull. The sun crashing through the draperies of my window isn’t helping. Why are they standing open like that, anyway? Normally, I close those as part of my bedtime routine.
Also, my mouth tastes disgusting. Like rancid meat mixed with old celery.
I hate old celery.
Then, my memories from last night blast through my brain and I twist in my sheets to see if Landon is still beside me.
He’s not, and my first instinct is to thank my lucky stars. None of that happened. It was all just a dream. The most vivid dream of my life, but just a frittering fancy of my imagination.
But wait…
I’m nude under these covers. Not a stitch on me. And is that a hickey on my nipple?
My bed smells like Landon, that recognizable spicy scent. Like a combination of pepper and paprika with a dash of nutmeg. I’d know it anywhere.
Despite my headache, I scramble out of bed.
“Landon?” I call out then wince. Even hearing my own voice hurts. But I need to locate him. “Landon, where are you?”
My home is a traditional if small two-bedroom one-bath Craftsman, which is plenty for me. At only 1200 square feet, this place is confined enough that I should’ve heard him respond by now. There’s no way my voice hasn’t reached him.
But he doesn’t respond. It becomes more and more evident that he isn’t here.
