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“Quin, please,” I demanded as my hands reached for him, trying to drag him over me.
“Please what?” he asked, lips moving down my jaw toward my lips.
There was no room for any insecurity here, only an end to the torment.
“Please fuck me,” I demanded, hand moving out to grab his hard cock, stroking it to the rhythm that his fingers were fucking me.
He allowed the contact for a long moment as his fingers curled and raked over my top wall until I was panting. Then I lost his touch as his body moved over mine, his cock sliding against my pussy as his lips claimed mine until I was writhing beneath him, hands raking scratches into his back and shoulders.
His weight shifted to balance on an arm as I heard the dresser drawer slide open, and heard the telltale crinkle as he opened the wrapper to protect us.
His lips released mine so he could look down at me as his hips shifted, and his cock slammed deeply inside me, claiming me completely with one stroke.
“Fuck,” he growled when my moan was loud enough to alert the neighbors.
His body shifted suddenly, moving back onto his knees, grabbing my legs, and dragging them up to rest on his shoulder, ankles crossed, his arm folding over them around the thigh, holding them tight to him as he started fucking me.
Hard.
Fast.
If he weren’t holding onto me, I would have been slamming back against the headboard with the force behind each thrust, his cock hitting as deeply as my body would allow with each stroke, driving me up faster than I knew was possible.
His free hand moved out, fingers pressing into my belly, making the pressure even more intolerable as his thumb slipped down to work my clit.
The build-up was too much.
It had been too long.
It seemed like almost as soon as it started, my walls started clenching tight around him, threatening a blissful end.
Seeming to feel it, Quin’s hand left my clit, grabbing my ankles, and dragging my legs down to press into the bed at an angle, thighs clenched tight as he fucked me harder, faster, his body getting tight with his own need for release.
“Come, Aven,” he demanded, one hand planting beside my shoulder as he half folded over me, keeping eye-contact as his cock slammed deep, making the tension release with a wave of pulsating pleasure.
“Quin.” It wasn’t a scream, or even a moan. It was a desperate, pleading sound as the orgasm ripped almost violently through me.
“Fuck,” he growled, thrusting through it, dragging it out, before planting deep, his body jerking hard once as he came with my name on his lips.
His other arm came down on my other side, his body curling over mine, his face buried in my neck as he came down from his orgasm, as he worked to level out his breathing and the frantic pounding of his heart I felt against my breast.
My arms moved up, curling around him, pulling him to me as I tried to find some semblance of control over my oddly sated, almost numb body.
A long moment later, his lips pressed into my neck, his breath warm over the skin as he spoke, “Hope you have no plans for the next week because I plan to keep you in bed for all of it,” he told me as he pressed up, a small smile pulling at his usually serious lips, his face completely at ease, something that was truly a sight to see in a man as reserved as he was. “I’ll be right back,” he told me as my body lost his, and he moved off the bed to walk toward the bathroom.
I forced my weighted limbs up, slipping under his soft sheets, and pulling them up to cover my body, now cold with the lack of contact.
I heard the sink running, and barely a few seconds later, Quin walked back out, beautifully naked. My head turned on the pillow, watching him as he moved toward me, not even trying to hide the way I was ogling him. When you clearly worked out to have a body like that, you expected it to be eye-fucked whenever it was on display.
He didn’t move right to me, though.
At the very last second, he veered off toward the dresser, rifling inside. I would have complained, but, well, with him turned away from me, it meant I got a chance to look at his back and his muscular ass. I had never considered myself an ass person until right that minute. But Quin’s ass? Oh, hell yes.
He turned back a second later, coming over toward my side of the bed with clothes in his hand. At my questioning look, he shrugged. “Shirt for you. Pants for me. We gotta go watch the ball drop and completely ruin my fucking apartment with confetti wands,” he informed me, handing me the shirt, and leaning forward to slip into the plain black and white plaid cotton bottoms.
