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“God, I love the way you feel. So warm.”
Thrust.
“So tight.”
Thrust.
“Perfect.”
Thrust.
“Don’t ever doubt how much I want you.” He freezes, poised over me, balls deep within me, his dark eyes locked on mine.
“Same.” It’s all I can get out. I’m so full. Of him. Of us. Of disbelief, yes, but this is what I want.
We move together. Sloppy, passionate kisses. With each thrust of his hips, he rolls over my clit, delivering pressure where I need it most. We find a pace that feels like a dance, a rhythm that’s so natural, I marvel at how something so new can feel so completely perfect.
“Are you close?” He hovers over me, brow next to mine, neck straining.
His hips slow and his thumb massages my clit. The pressure, combined with him, with all of him, with us, and those watchful eyes, the care, the love, it’s all so much, and I detonate. My body loses all control.
I cling to him, holding on as tightly as I possibly can, closing my eyes to ride through the blinding release as he pulses deep within me, the side of his face next to mine, his muscles flexed, his hips jerking in uneven movements, all rhythm lost.
He collapses over me, damp skin, chest heaving.
We lie there like that, and all I can think is that I don’t want us to move. I don’t want time to move forward. I want to stay like this forever.
But that’s an unrealistic dream. Time always marches forward.
He pushes up on an elbow and kisses me. Deeply. Slowly.
“I love you.” I hold his face, forcing him to look directly at me, so he sees it as well as hears it. “I’ll do anything for you.”
His eyes brighten and his lips spread into a smile. “I love you, too. So much. Don’t ever doubt it.”
If I were a sorceress, we would stay like this forever, gazing into each other’s eyes, our naked bodies aligned. But I have no such power over time. No spell to hold us here. I can however hold the memory in my heart for the rest of my life.
Almost apologetically, he pushes up and says, “Gotta take care of the condom.”
After we each take our turns in the bathroom, he pulls me up against his side, then tucks the comforter around us. “Are you on birth control?”
We’ve been using condoms, but the truth is, given my medical history, I should use more than just condoms.
“No.”
“When we get back to Asheville, do you think maybe you should see a doctor, talk to them about birth control?”
“Do you not trust condoms?” I’ve read statistics. But it’s been years. When you don’t have sex regularly, or, ever, it’s not something you think about often.
“It’s not that. But I want to do a lot more of that with you. And I want to be safe with you.”
Is this a conversation he’d have with any woman, or is he bringing it up because of my medical history? “What did Sam tell you?”
“He mentioned it wouldn’t be safe for you to have children. I just want to be as careful as we can be. If I should get snipped…that’s an option too.”
“You’d have surgery? For me?”
He nips at my lower lip. “Absolutely. I know a couple of guys who have done it. Your safety is the priority.”
