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And still, he doesn’t come. He continues to take me in as many positions as he can think of—standing, sitting, lying, from behind, on our sides, sometimes slowing down as if he wants to make every second last, sometimes speeding up, as if his body is taking over and urging him to get to the finish line.
But it’s only after I’ve come so many times I’ve lost count, and when we’re finally in missionary, my favorite, because I can see his face, and my legs are wrapped around his waist, that he lifts up onto his hands, and I feel him tremble.
“You’re shaking,” I whisper, running my fingers up his arms and across his muscular shoulders.
“I can’t hold on much longer,” he says hoarsely.
I swallow hard. “Come for me, honey.”
His eyelids drift shut for a moment before he opens them again. His gaze skims down me, noting, I’m sure, the way my breasts move with each of his thrusts. “Jesus, you’re so beautiful.”
My eyes prick with sudden, unwanted tears. “Kip…”
I don’t think he notices. He’s too busy taking my hands in his and pinning them above my head, and his gaze rakes down me, his fierce hunger taking my breath away. He shifts, moving his hips up an inch, and this time when he thrusts, he’s grinding against my clit, and oh I’m going to comeagain. I’m so exhausted that all I can do is shudder and let it wash over me as if I’m driftwood lying on the beach. I moan loudly, and that’s obviously enough to push him over the edge. He gives a couple more thrusts, then groans and shudders, and I force my eyes open so I can watch his climax claim him. I’ve seen the satisfied look on his face when I come, so I know that’s how I must look as his hips jerk and he spills inside me. I’ve done this for him—even if he directs the action, it’s my body that’s driven him over the edge. Oh, he’s so gorgeous, with his fierce frown, his deep groans, his muscles turning to rock as he thrusts again and again, until he’s finally spent.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, opening his eyes to look at me, dazed. “Holy shit.”
“You all right?” I ask. “Still in one piece?”
“No.”
I cup his face. “My Kristopher,” I whisper. And then I wrap my arms around him and hold him, wishing I never had to let him go.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kip
I’m not sure what happened at the end there. I’d held my climax in for so long that I was shaking with the sheer effort of not coming. And when I did, I think I actually shifted into an alternate dimension. Or maybe I died for a few seconds before being hauled back into this world blinking like a new babe. Whatever happened, it felt as if it went on forever, and now I feel faint and exhausted and dizzy and elated all rolled into one.
“You sucked me dry,” I tell Alice. “I must look all desiccated and withered like an Egyptian mummy.”
She giggles and strokes my face. “You’re a god in the bedroom. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
I lower onto my elbows—carefully, shakily, afraid of collapsing on top of her and then suffocating her because I’m unable to move—and kiss her. A slow, luxurious, heart-achingly tender kiss now all my passion and energy is spent.
Then I lift my head and look at her. “Don’t go,” I say.
Her expression softens as if she’s been expecting this. “Kip…”
“Stay another couple of days.”
“I can’t.”
“We’ll go away somewhere. Mum and Dad have a bach up in Paraparaumu, right on the beach. It’s huge and quiet, and all you can hear is the sound of the waves and the seagulls. We’ll make love on the beach with the waves washing over us.”
“And get sand in all our crevices.”
“I’ll help you wash it out.”
She laughs, then kisses me again. “Come and lie beside me.”
I move my hips, still inside her, and her eyelids flutter shut for a moment. “Seriously?” she demands, “How are you still hard?”
“It’s you and your magnificent body. Want to go again?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Actually, I am. I might give myself a coronary.” Carefully, I withdraw, then move off her and collapse back onto the pillows with a groan. She curls up beside me, and I wrap my arms around her.
