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“Chris, what are you . . .” Her eyes widen, her gaze darting down and over my face. She licks her lips and a flush blooms on her chest.
In an echo of our first kiss, I back her into the wall, caging her in. Her pupils are huge, her mouth parted, and I take those delicious lips in a searing kiss, my body aligning with hers.
This time, Sara meets me head-on. Her hands grab at my back, her fingers scrambling for purchase. I grab her wrists and slam them into the wall above her head, using my knuckles to protect her. Sara groans and responds by sucking my tongue into her mouth.
Fuuuuuccccckkkkkk.
I’m hard as nails against her, and she squirms and wriggles, making it worse. I pull back enough to nip her chin and suck on the soft spot right below her chin. She swallows, and I press my lips against the movement.
“You know this doesn’t change anything, right? I’m still leaving.”
“I know.” My voice is coarse, which we both ignore. I keep moving down her body, pressing my mouth against her. It’s not soft and tender; it’s teeth and torture.
When I get to her nipple, turgid against the thin material, I graze it with my teeth. Sara’s wrists shift as she flexes her hands, and her breath catches.
The energy in my body is telling me more, more, more. Sara’s body echoes my thoughts with every movement, every needy cry.
I release her hands and slip mine under the band of her sports bra, pulling it up and over her head with a practiced ease. She tugs at my shirt, and together we strip it off. Our chests are skin-to-skin, and I kiss her again, deep and thrashing, teeth and metal clacking. I wedge a hand between us and pinch her nipple.
“Oh, fuck.”
I almost can’t believe it at first. Sara says fuck?
But when I look at her, all my laughter dies. She’s so fucking flushed and turned on and swollen.
I tweak her nipple again, and her body arcs, torso curving in, and her eyes closing, head falling down.
“Hey,” I bite out. “Look at me.”
Sara lifts her head, and I grasp her chin with one hand, switching to her other breast with the other.
“Tell me if I go too hard, okay?”
She nods, and I adjust my grip, my palm lightly on her throat, my thumb and forefinger on opposite sides of her jaw firmly holding her.
I keep kissing her, loving the way her body shakes every time I pinch her nipples. I massage, too, a mix of worship and punishment.
And she likes it. I’ve been so busy loving her I haven’t noticed this side before. This flushed, needy, aching woman. A woman who, when I slip my hand into the front of her yoga pants, I find soaking.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whisper into her open mouth.
She moans in response when I plunge two fingers in. I work my fingers in and out, pumping and coaxing and getting her strung tight enough to snap.
“Chris, please,” she begs. “Fuck me.”
I swear. “I have to get a condom.” I pull my fingers out of her cunt and suck the juices off. She hasn’t even come yet, and she’s dripping. “Take your pants off.”
In my bedroom, I strip off my pants and grab a condom, rolling it on while I power-walk back to the kitchen. It’s not graceful; it’s more like trying to hit a moving target with every step until I take my cock in one hand and roll the condom on with the other.
In the kitchen, Sara’s back against the wall. She’s naked, her ponytail askew, and her eyes wide. She’s turned off the burner, but there’s a cutting board and knife on the counter. I quickly clear everything off, dumping the cutting board and chopped vegetables into the sink.
“I wasn’t done,” Sara protests.
“Don’t care.” I shove everything else to the side against the wall, leaving the counter where we’ve shared so many meals clear.
“Come here,” I commend, and when she does, I grip the back of her neck. Her breathing, which had calmed down to heavy, shifts to panting. I guide her down, bending her over the counter. I let her lead, let her turn her head to the side, and apply gentle pressure to keep her there. Not that she needs it. Anticipation rolls over her, her ankles spreading apart and a whimper escaping her mouth when I sweep my other hand up her inner thigh.
“God damn, look at this mess.” I trace my fingers through the slickness of her inner thighs. All this just from her standing naked in the kitchen, waiting for me? “You want me to fuck you like that? Sloppy and messy right here?”
