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His mouth moves up my body, and he’s on his knees and rising above me, his beautiful arousal close to my face. “Taste me,” he commands and rubs himself against my mouth.
I eagerly open my lips and circle my tongue around the head of his desire, tasting his muskiness and wanting more. He gives me only an inch, then two, but he refuses to give me all I want. “I’m the one who controls this,” he says, his words strained.
“You want my mouth around you. Admit it, Byron.”
He strokes my breasts while I suck on him as far as he’ll allow. Then he pulls away for only a second, rubs his hands down my body, and suddenly he’s pushing two fingers inside me. He begins driving them in and out at the same speed as he thrusts his erection in my mouth.
This is better, but I want more. I want him buried inside me with his mouth on mine. I want release. I want to make love — yes,love —then make love again. This moment can last an eternity and it still won’t be long enough.
Without warning, my body goes up in flames, my core grabbing his fingers and holding them inside as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me. He pulls his hardness from my mouth and his fingers from my heat, and suddenly I’m alone. I nearly fall asleep, but I hear a sound, and instantly my body awakens. I still want more. And I know I’m going to get it.
Byron unties my hands, then rubs my arms from wrist to shoulder and back again. All the while, he’s lying with his body pressed up against mine and his manhood pushing against my inner thighs, making me squirm beside him.
He rises up and pulls me from the bed, so both of us are standing. “You’re so unbelievably sexy, McKenzie,” he murmurs. “I can almost come from nothing more than looking at you.” He strokes my naked torso, making my knees nearly collapse.
“I hope you plan to do more than look, Byron. I’m not finished,” I say, a throaty groan escaping as he tweaks my nipples with seductive fingers.
“I’ll never be finished with you,” he tells me, and I wish it were true. I can do this forever.
He turns me around, and I nearly protest, but his arms encircle me and he rubs the undersides of my breasts. As he holds their weight in his palms, my nipples grow painfully hard.
One of his hands drifts up past my throat and slides around to settle on the back of my neck, while the other dips to my stomach and he holds me tightly against him, letting me feel his thickness on the crease of my ass.
He pushes against my back, and I lean forward, arching my derrière in the air, his solid erection resting against it. Then he retreats slightly, slipping his arousal down along my swollen folds, and wets his head with my juices. I wiggle against him, wanting him inside me. I’m so ready to feel more of the pleasure only he can give.
“Patience,” he whispers as he bends down and runs his tongue along my spine. He drops to his knees and kisses his way along my backside and down to my thighs before pushing my legs apart and coating his tongue with my heat.
When I’m just about to release again, he stands, and before I can take a single breath, he grips my hips and thrusts forward, forcefully pulling out then pushing back in, deep inside of me.
I explode around him, my legs shaking, my body clenching his massive arousal as I nearly weep with the pleasure of his movements. He’s inside me up to the hilt in this position, and I’m greedy for every single inch of him.
When my pulsations finally die down, he slows his thrusts. For a brief moment I feel both the pain and pleasure of overstimulation. I want to push him out — it’s too much. But I let his hands glide back around my body, and while one finds a breast, the other touches the sensitive bundle of nerves right above where his hardness is penetrating me.
And I feel pleasure building once more. Greed. This is what greed feels like — I want it all... and then some. I want him over and over again. With desperation born of greed, I begin pushing back against him to meet his thrusts. The sound of our bodies slapping together heightens my pleasure. He groans loudly, and I reach back to cup his tightened balls and squeeze. He lets out a cry and begins shaking as he pumps convulsively inside me.
With a cry of my own, I shatter again, and our sounds of pleasure blend together as we collapse on the bed. Byron lies on my back, and neither of us breathe evenly. After several moments, he shifts off me, then climbs up on the bed, pulling me with him, locking his arms around me.
“We’re good together,” he says, his hand in my hair, our bodies sated — for at least the next few minutes. I say nothing. I’m too afraid this moment will end. Yes, we’re good together. But for how long?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
McKenzie
An entire week passes with no word from Byron. Great sex —then nothing.
I’ve known all along this is how it was going to end, but that knowledge doesn’t help. Yet it’s ridiculous. Why should I be so upset? It isn’t as if I haven’t been through worse... a lot worse. I’ve been through hell and back a few times. A guy using me for sex — great sex, mind you — and then throwing me away shouldn’t make me feel like I don’t know which way is up anymore.
Still, each time I get a text message or the phone rings, my heart skips a beat. Truly absurd. Why does it matter? If he calls or asks to see me, I’ll respond with an emphaticno. We’re done. I refuse to be used by him. By anyone.
At my desk at Seattle Accounting, trying to do my job, I listen to my private cell phone ring and take several deep breaths before answering. I don’t care if it’s Byron, although I know it isn’t... and, of course, it’s not.
I assure myself I have no reason to care, but I can’t get past the ache in my chest each time it isn’t him calling. Someday this will stop. Until then, I need to go on living my life, unable to take any more right now. Deciding to call it an early day, I let Zach know I’m leaving, gather my purse and coat, and exit the building.
It’s a typical cool autumn day in Seattle and the last thing I want to do at three in the afternoon is return to my empty house. I’ve loved my home from the moment I walked through its doors once it was all mine. But now it’s just another place where I’m alone.
When did being alone become such a burden? I’ve survived a long time on my own, and I’ve liked it, but after my fling with Byron — even after the short time it lasted — I’m discovering I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I walk two blocks to my favorite gastropub and step through the doorway. The familiar noise, smell, and feel of the place helps soothe my nerves. I move to the back, sit down, and soon place my order. Routine. That’s what I need. The more uniform my life is, the more I’ll appreciate it. Soon I won’t have to think about Byron at all. My life will go back to the way it’s always been.
