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Both of us go still for a moment.
“Do you feel that? My heart, Whit, it’s so damn full again.”
Reflexively, my fingertips dig into his bare chest. “I hope you know I want to let mine feel that way too. I want to be able to say the words I love you without feeling that it’s going to be a burden to you for the rest of your life. Because I do. I love you. These past two weeks …” I force a laugh. “Mostly the past week, I have felt like I did before Nelly’s lie. And it hurts to say that because that lie … that lie is Nora. And she’s not a lie. She’s everything that’s good in this world. Pope, these past couple of days have been so … big—so much bigger than I ever imagined life could be—but I am so afraid.”
“You weren’t afraid last night; you weren’t afraid today in church when you said I do. You were happy, Whit, and I know it because I know what that looks like, what it feels like to be in the presence of your joy. It, too, is everything that’s good in this world. We are going to get back to that. You, Nora, and me—we’re going to have a good life, I promise you. I won’t be without you again, Whit. I ached for you.”
With the belt of the robe, Pope pulls me into him, catching me before we crash so hard into each other that the kiss would be bruising. This kiss, it’s like a bridge, bringing us from then until now without all the hurt feelings and pain. Both of us groan as our lips meld together with such precision that it causes heat to run all the way down to my toes.
My heart beats harder, surging and swelling to the size it was always meant to be. His hands run roughly up the length of me, a deep groan vibrating from his lips as he traces the curves of my body as if he’s memorizing them. They finally make it to my face, and, God, I love how he holds my face in his firm grip; it makes me feel like I am beautiful.
My back hits the truck. My mouth opens to him, and his tongue slides in as his hands glides down, gripping my butt and lifting me up.
He sets me on the tailgate of his old truck, and we’re still kissing. God, I love kissing. I could kick myself for not letting him kiss me that night we gave ourselves to each other, but then again, I can’t imagine missing his kiss as much as I missed him all those years.
“I want you, Whit. Tell me you want me too.”
“I want you too.”
His thick fingers reach down to untie the belt of my robe, and then he pushes it off my shoulder. “Absolutely beautiful.”
His eyes take in the thin, silky white material barely covering my body. “You’re going to put your faith in me? Because I’m here with you right now, and even when I’m on the road, I’m still gonna be right here with you, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I exhale as his lips press against my shoulder.
“You and I, we’re unstoppable. And we’re always going to be that way.” His hands grip my knees and slide up my legs to the hem of the nightgown and up my body until he pulls it over my head and drops it beside us. “I don’t know where to start with you. Your tits are fucking spectacular.” He cups them in his hands, swiping his thumbs over my nipples before he leans in and licks one and then the other. “Tastes so fucking good.”
His hot, wet mouth surrounds my breast as his hands slide down my body until they’re underneath my ass.
He lifts me, moving me back into the Broncos flat bed. “Lie back, Whitley, so I can kiss your pretty little pussy.”
Lying down in front of me, his chest bare, he slips one foot and then the other over his muscular shoulders until he is facing down, licking, tasting, and sucking me.
God, I love this too. Foreplay is a gift to the women of the world. Even giving Pope head in the shower in Vegas was a complete turn-on. Yes, foreplay is a gift to women because sex is definitely for men.
John Paul’s groans are guttural and increase my desire. I feel myself growing wetter with each long, lavish lick of his talented tongue. His hand runs up my torso and cups my breast, and he pinches my nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb.
“Ohh God, ohh God, ohh God, yes, yes, yes.” I fall apart so quickly that I should be embarrassed, but I’m not, not one bit. What I am is determined to make him fall apart just as quickly.
I reach down, shoving my fingers in his silky waves, and grip it, pulling him up.
“Whitley, what are you doing? I wasn’t done with you yet.”
“I haven’t even begun with you.”
I push him to roll on his back and kiss down his chest. I shove his sweatpants down enough for his cock to spring free. I wrap my hand around his girthy shaft and begin to stroke him.
“Fuck yes, fuck yes,” he hisses right before I wrap my lips around his fat tip, sucking the pre-cum from the slit of his cock. “That fucking drives me wild. You drive me wild. I can’t wait to be inside that sweet pussy of yours.”
His words, his praise, do something to me, and I move my body above him, my knees on each side of his hip. My hand is on the base of his cock, drawing it up and down the length of my soaked slit.
“Fuck me, Whitley. Are you trying to kill me?” He grabs my hips, his fingers and thumbs sinking into my flesh. “Your pussy is so hot, so wet.”
I take him in just a little and realize just how big John Paul’s cock truly is. He’s massive, even more so when I’m trying to fit him inside of me.
“Whitley Mae, I know I taught you how to drive stick in this very truck. You can’t sit there in neutral and expect me not to try to help you out.” He thrusts upward, and I cry out his name, except it’s not his name; it’s something altogether different, a curse possibly. “This is kind of like starting you out at a Stop sign on a hill and expecting you not to stall out.”
He sits up, runs his hands down my back and rolls me, so I’m beneath him, and he positions his cock at my entrance. “We’re going to go slow to start, which is good because I do want to make love to my wife for the first time without tearing her apart or hurting her in any way.”
