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But it’s different than before. I couldn’t describe it in words if I tried. I only know how it feels. He’s gentler now than he was at the club. Almost considerate. I’m not going to fool myself into thinking it means anything, but is it wrong that I sort of want it to?
No, you idiot, it’s just for tonight. Maybe it would be better if I stopped him?
I would also be the stupidest person in the world if I did. Who would stop this? The anticipation that makes my breath catch and my heart race, the growing heat, the promise of what’s to come.
Besides, now that he said it, I understand something else: I want him all to myself, too. Just the two of us, one more time. If I have to spend the rest of my life without him, I might as well have plenty to remember him by.
By the time the dress is around my hips, and he’s begun to lap at the soft seam between my leg and my mound, I’m on my back, writhing, moaning his name. I want to lose myself in him again, to lose all connection to the girl I was when I woke up this morning. I want what he brings out of me. He called me a goddess, and that’s who I want to be, his goddess. Someone worthy of worship.
And he is worshiping me, lapping at my covered pussy before pulling the panties down, over my knees, my ankles. But instead of eating me again, he sits me up, his brow furrowed in concentration as he strips off my coat, tossing it aside before unzipping my dress and sliding it down my shoulders, my arms, until finally, he pulls it off entirely, where it joins my coat on the floor.
“These tits. Perfection.” That’s all he says before burying his face between them, grunting like an animal, then unfastening my bra so he can feast on my nipples. Back and forth he goes, taking his time running his tongue in slow, lazy circles before drawing them between his teeth and sucking. All I can do is whimper my approval, running my hands through his hair and holding him as close as I can.
I want him. Not just tonight, but always. I’ve never felt more alive—who could blame me for not wanting to give this up?
He releases me with a popping sound, looking up to give me an almost drowsy smile. “You are perfect.” Those three little words go straight to my pussy, making my clit throb painfully. Perfect. He thinks I’m perfect.
I need to touch him. I need to feel him and explore him like I haven’t been able to yet. I take off his tie, then begin unbuttoning his shirt. I want to touch what I’ve seen. I need to commit every bit of him to memory.
I shouldn’t be surprised that once his shirt is off and I begin running my hands over his impossibly huge shoulders and chest, that he’s quick to take my wrists in his hands and hold them together.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a nervous laugh.
He doesn’t answer verbally, but he doesn’t really need to once he wraps the silk tie around my wrists and pulls tight, rendering me pretty much helpless.
He then pushes me back onto the bed, holding my wrists above my head with one hand while nudging my legs apart with his body. His covered erection presses against my pussy, and my eyes roll back in my head at the unbelievable heat building there. Not just heat, either.
Hunger. A deep yearning for more. For all of him.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, blushing but not caring. I’m beyond that point now.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Still holding my wrists in place, he undoes his belt and fly with his other hand, staring down at me all the while. I can hardly breathe; I’m so thrilled and nervous and excited. It’s the look in his eyes that does it, I think. Like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, right now. On top of me, pulling his erect dick free from his shorts before shoving them down until he is as naked as I am.
I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him closer—if I can’t use my hands, I’ll use whatever else I have available. I just want the touch of his skin, to test the firmness of his muscles.
And, of course, there’s the impressive rod between us, flopping against my stomach before he positions it, the head pressed against my soaked entrance. He runs his head through my slick juices, breathing faster, the way I am, before pushing forward.
“Oh, shit!” I shout when he invades me again, filling and stretching me. Bringing me to that place between pain and pleasure but easing me closer to pleasure with every sure, deep stroke.
“You like that big cock inside you?” he grunts, laughing softly when I moan my response. Yes, I like it. I love it. I could get very used to it.
He’s taking me, yes, making me strain against him and fight the tie around my wrists.
But I’m taking him, too. Working with him. Moving my hips to meet his thrusts, sweeter all the time. Pulling him deeper with my legs. Arching my back so my nipples rub against his chest.
I’m afraid to look him in the eye, afraid of what I’ll see. Or what I won’t see—no matter how much I want to. I don’t know what would be worse. Instead, I close them. It’s safer that way.
But it doesn’t keep my heart from swelling. It’s the smell of him, the feel of his body, his helpless grunts as he takes pleasure in me. The special something that makes him who he is.
He’s only going to hurt you.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut like that will force the thought away. I can’t think about it. I need to live in the moment for once.
“Harper… Harper…” It’s music, the sound of him groaning my name. I wish I could record it and play it for the rest of my life. Even if it wouldn’t be the same but then nothing ever could.
Oh, no.
I fell for him again, didn’t I?
