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Isn’t that what he meant? I tug on his hips again. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He hesitates for another second, like he wants to say something else, and then drops his body onto mine. I gasp—because, holy hell, I can feel every inch of his hardness and it’s amazing.
He kisses me softly, slowly, as if we have hours. I expected us to get naked immediately, but we don’t. Instead, we shed clothes as we go, until the only things left are my underwear and his briefs. His touch on my stomach, my hips, and my breasts is persistent and intoxicating, but it doesn’t feel rushed.
My hands are more frantic, moving over his body with intent as I trace every ridge of muscle on his abdomen. Even when I reach his waistband, he doesn’t strip off his underwear. “Patience,” he whispers.
A part of me wishes he were fevered and desperate. I’m not used to slow seduction.
Generally, it’s easy for me to get lost in the physical sensations. Right now, though, my brain won’t turn off. It’s cataloging every touch and searing each one into my memory. I am not detached. I am not dazed. I am incredibly present. It worries me, but at the same time, I have never been so delightfully aware of my body.
Pleasure builds as my need for release increases. I wrap my legs around his waist and rock shamelessly against his hard length. He grunts, and his lips find mine as he thrusts his pelvis. My nails scrape down his back as I chase my orgasm.
Our movements synchronize. A little more friction and…my world splinters. My body tightens, and wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. I haven’t even finished shuddering when he buries his face in my hair.
His body tenses and our groans mingle as his release seeps between us. He collapses on top of me and I cling to him, his breath tickling my ear. A contented sigh escapes me.
“Well…hell,” he says, peeling his body off mine. He chuckles uncomfortably as he shifts to my side. “I haven’t come like that since high school. I didn’t mean to…”
I giggle, because, yeah, we just rubbed against each other like we were inexperienced kids rather than adults who want to fuck. It was not at all what I was expecting—it was somehow better.
Even though I don’t want to admit it was the hottest almost sex of my life, I do want him to know that I’m very satisfied. “If I had come like that in high school, I’m not sure I would have ever gotten around to letting a dick inside me.”
“Is that your way of telling me it was good?”
“Obviously.” I waggle my eyebrows. “You want to go again? This time we can go all the way, and then we can compare which we like best.”
He rests his chin on his knuckles. “I’m not sure if that was a challenge or an insult.”
“Neither. It was an invitation.”
He drops his hand. “You’re serious.”
“We might only have today, but there’s no reason we can’t make the most of it, right?” My gaze drifts along his body. “That was good, but I bet we can do better.”
He smiles. “Invitation accepted.”
He strips off his underwear and tosses it onto the floor. Then he blankets my body with his once again. He moves even slower than before as he kisses my lips, my jaw, the space below my ear, my collarbone, and the swell of my breasts. His fingers are gentle, his touch fleeting, as he traces my skin.
I open my mouth to beg him to go faster, but the words don’t come. I’m distracted by his lips teasing my nipple. A moan escapes. His finger flicks my other nipple and my back arches. I’m floating in a sensual haze, lost in the pleasure he’s coaxing from my body.
He drifts farther down, over my ribs and my stomach. He tugs off my plain cotton underwear, and then he’s between my legs. Tormenting my folds with gentle suction and tender swipes of his tongue. I’m a quivering mess of need, aware of nothing except for the things he’s doing with his mouth.
An orgasm tears through me in rolling waves. I babble incoherently—maybe I’m using words, but maybe not. It’s never been like this before, and I’m too far gone to temper my reactions.
He fumbles for a condom as I roll onto my side. He doesn’t question the change in position. And, somehow, he knows exactly what I want. He settles beside me, moving so his front is pressed against my back. His right arm slips underneath me and his left hand steadies my hip. I can feel his solid warmth everywhere as he slides into me.
He holds me close as he starts to move. My breath hitches. Why are the sensations so magnified? What is happening between us?
This eclipses our dry humping by miles, and the whole time, I’m startlingly aware of him and the way he’s making me feel. He clutches me even tighter as he comes with a low sound of pleasure. I exist in a cloud of bliss as I relax against him. He keeps me close, like he doesn’t want to let me go.
When I finally regain the use of my limbs, I climb out of his arms and retreat to the bathroom. I get cleaned up and decide I won’t overreact. We’re clearly sexually compatible—or he’s a sex god—but that doesn’t mean I should ask for more than today.
I emerge from the bathroom casually, like I’m an expert at one-night stands.
“I knew we could do better.” I smirk.
He laughs and takes his own turn in the bathroom. When he comes out, he asks if I want to stay for dinner. I agree, and he opens a drawer and tosses me a sweatshirt and some shorts. I don’t read anything into the fact that I’m wearing his clothes again.
