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He silently presses his lips to mine. I haven’t kissed him enough tonight and my arms go around his neck to pull him in to me. I can’t get enough of him, physically or emotionally.
“Whitney, I want to make love to you,” he tells me so quietly and vulnerably I barely recognize his voice.
“I’m pretty sure that’s what we’ve been doing,” I joke, not sure how to handle this new side of Peter. He shakes his head.
“No, honey. We’ve been having amazing, hot sex and I relish that, but I want more. I have feelings for you, sweetheart. I haven’t sorted them out yet because this has been such a whirlwind, but making love is different than hot sex. Making love requires a deeper, emotional connection and I think we’re there, sweetheart.”
I understand what he’s saying and I can’t respond. I’m afraid if I open my mouth that my lips will betray me and I’ll blurt out that I love him. Love? Suddenly, I know it’s true. Even if he hasn’t sorted out his feelings, it seems I’ve sorted out mine. Instead, I roll to face him and take his face in my hands, kissing him sweetly, and imbuing it with all the emotion that I can’t say.
He pulls me close, intertwining his legs with mine. His arms coil around me tightly so my breasts are held firmly against his broad, bare chest and his arousal is pressed between us, patiently awaiting attention. The urgency of our previous sexual endeavors has passed. In its place are slow, deliberate caresses and soft touches of lips.
Peter tangles his hands in my curls and keeps his eyes locked on mine when our lips part. The connection is so much more intense and my longing for him goes so much farther than just wanting him to fill the void inside me.
“Make love to me, Peter,” I finally manage to whisper.
For the first time, I am on my back and he’s on top of me, his elbows holding his weight so he can still meet my eyes. He slips into me like a boat parting the waves, smoothly and seamlessly, closing his mouth over mine and moving his tongue in the same rhythm as his pelvis. I’m floating on a plane of ecstasy. Every nerve in my body is tingling.
I wrap one leg around his waist and the other tangles with his. I gradually rock my hips to keep tempo with him. I am not in a hurry to end this connection.
“You are so beautiful,” he tells me, pulling out and lifting himself onto one knee. “This sensual neck leads to these utterly spectacular, enormous breasts,” he narrates, exploring the area with his mouth.
When he reaches my sensitive pink nibs, he takes them in his mouth, caressing them lightly with his tongue and lips while keeping his eyes locked on mine. It’s not the same intense pleasure and pain dance from the first night we spent together, but it sets my body humming in a different way. I focus on his face, watching as he tastes me while running my hands through his hair.
“I adore how feminine your body is; it’s like a Botticelli goddess,” he murmurs worshipfully, running his hands over my soft stomach. “And this,” he adds, tracing a finger down to my bare sex, “tastes sweeter than any confection I’ve ever had.”
He covers my mound with his mouth and I watch him making love to me this way; tasting every inch of my body with his hands and mouth yet touching my soul with his eyes. I savor the communion of emotions but despite my best efforts to focus, my body has other ideas.
“Come back up here to me,” I gasp and he obliges, moving with his panther-like grace to settle back between my spread legs.
“I like pleasing you,” he growls in my ear, easing inside. Then, he thrusts a little faster than and I gasp. The penetration is intense, and it’s like the first time all over again. Slowly, my body adjusts.
“I like being pleased by you,” I moan and close my eyes for a moment, knowing if I meet his, I’m gone.
“Come with me Peter,” I say, catching his gaze and crushing my mouth to his. He speeds up and pushes into me harder, grabbing one of my hips for leverage but not breaking the lock between our mouths. One, two, three more thrusts and I gasp as shocks pulse through my body. I feel Peter’s own hot release timed to match mine, and it’s magnificent. My heart pulses even as my body swims with the waves, lost in the sea.
We are spent. The exhaustion goes so much deeper than the physical. Sleep comes in a tangled web of limbs and synchronized heartbeats, and I couldn’t be happier.
15
Peter
Waking with Whitney’s head on my chest feels natural, like she’s always been there. The bond we forged last night has implications I’m not quite ready for this morning, but Whitney takes my mind off those ruminations with a small giggle and her hand on my cock. Her insatiable sexual desire is a turn on, and some rough and tumble morning sex always starts the day off right.
