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No, she’s a million times better.
She’s real.
Her eyes flutter open as she catches her breath. She looks down at me, hazy with bliss, but determined all the same.
She scoots back on my legs, undoes the button of my jeans.
I lift my hips to move the jeans, and my boxers, away.
She watches me with wide eyes, studying me with the intensity only Deanna can bring. As if she wants to memorize every line, every curve, every inch.
If I didn’t know better, I’d feel like a specimen, an animal at the zoo. But I know better. I know this is how she shows appreciation. I know this is her version of a work of art.
Pleasure floods my senses as she wraps her hand around me. She starts softly. Then harder. As hard as I need.
A groan falls from my lips.
Then she kisses me, and she works me with that same pressure and my body takes over. No thinking. Only the sensation of being in the moment, with her, exactly where I’m supposed to be.
After her next stroke, I wrap my hand around her wrist.
She gasps as I grab her, so I make my grip harder.
Her pupils dilate. Her chest heaves. She likes it this way. Not quite forceful, but close.
And it’s as thrilling as I imagined, leading the most powerful woman in the world.
“Condom.” I release her wrist.
She takes another heavy breath and reaches for the packet. She keeps her eyes on me as she tears it with her teeth and rolls it over me.
My hands go to her hips. She follows my motions as I lift her and position her body over mine.
I bring her lower and lower.
Until she brushes against me.
My body begs me to relent, to take all of her, all at once. She already feels so good. Too good.
But I need to take it slow. She’s trusting me, here, and that means more than anything.
I lift her and tease her again.
And again.
Until her eyes flutter closed, and her hands find my chest, my neck.
Then, when I’m sure she’s as desperate as I am, I pull her over me, one perfect inch at a time.
She envelops me with her soft flesh, stretching to take me, arching her back just enough to pull me deeper.
She’s good at this. I don’t know how she can see it any other way.
Her fingers curl into my neck. “You feel good.”
“You feel like heaven.”
She arches her hips again. She has that itch, the urge to lead.
