“Can I touch you now?” His voice is scraped raw with hunger for me. The girl with the pencil in freshman orientation. The one he didn’t see or even recall. That girl stands here showing him everything, trusts him with everything.
And feels completely seen.
I nod jerkily, breasts rising and falling with my choppy breaths.
His hands . . . God, his hands are so reverent when he strokes the curve of my jaw and then traces my face. He wanders down my neck, caressing the skin slowly like he’s savoring every inch. He’s watching the path his hands take, narrowing his eyes on my breasts cupped in his big hands. He bends and takes one nipple into the warmth of his mouth, stroking the other with his thumb.
I clutch the nearby counter, gripping it tightly and trying to stay on my feet while his mouth widens over my breast, sucking aggressively, and his other hand swipes down my side and palms my butt.
“This ass,” he breathes over the dampened tip of my breast and moves his hand between my legs, palming me and sliding three eager fingers inside me without delay. He runs his finger to my ass and strokes the sensitive aperture, surprising me, overtaking me with unexpected sensations as he freely explores my body.
“Have you ever been fucked in the ass?” he asks, running his thumb over the tiny hole, eyes burning with curiosity and lust.
“Yes,” I breathe, realizing that I shed my inhibitions along with my robe. “I love anal.”
His thumb stills, lingering then probing the tiniest bit at the puckered hole but not delving inside. The look suspended between us spins a web of soon-to-be unindulged fantasies.
“We’re gonna get along just fine.” He resumes the seeking, the stroking, the torture above the waist and below until I’m panting, desperate, quivering. Our breaths mingle. Our foreheads press together and he rubs my back, my spine a conduit for the electric charge transmitted from his fingertips to the delicate column of nerves and muscles.
“It would be a shame if a bed is actually here this time,” he says. “And we still don’t use it.”
He kisses me, our tongues parrying and thrusting, our moans meeting in the middle. I barely notice that he’s slowly walking me backward into his bedroom. By the time the backs of my knees hit the firm mattress, I’m nearly delirious, twisting his hair in my fingers, scraping my nails down his back. There’s a savagery in our kisses born of desire long denied. There’s nothing sweet or gentle in it. A starving stroke of tongues, the sharp snap of teeth. Bared. Biting. The taste of blood mingles in the kiss, making it ferrous, feral. It’s more than a kiss. It’s a clash of titans.
“Wait.” He grabs my hair, pulling my head back when I press into him, seeking more. “I want this slower.”
“Jared.” I reach between us and fist his cock. “We can do slower later.”
“No.” He chuckles and pushes my shoulder gently until I’m sitting on the bed. “Slower now.”
I’m shocked when he gets down on his knees in front of me. Both times we made love, Jared put in work, eating me out like a starving man. I’m fully prepared and dripping wet for act three, but he surprises me yet again. Taking my foot in his hand, he kisses the arch. A frisson scuttles along my leg from the place he kissed me, and I twitch. He embarks on a journey that carries him up my leg, sucking the calf muscle and behind my knee, his tongue warm, velvety torture. All the while his mouth worships me, he squeezes my hips, grips my waist, palms my breasts. By the time he christens the inside of my thighs with kisses, I’m thrashing, head flung back, heedless of my wet hair on the bed. The light caresses, the feathery kisses, the careful kneading of my flesh, he’s doing it on purpose. A passionate provocation pushing me to beg. It’s the best battle of wills, one where the end is already decided. Because he can go slow or fast, light or deep, but he will fuck me before this is over.
I win.
But I’m determined to resist as long as I can, gathering the fine linen of his sheets in my balled fists, pressing the tips of my toes into the cool stone floor, caging the moans and whimpers inside my teeth. Not giving him the satisfaction until he satisfies me.
And then the tide changes. Those gentle hands—the ones I want to ravage me, to dig into my ass while he barrels into my body—press my legs open. I tense, completely aware that I have no defense against that tongue, against the skill and patient hunger applied to the needy, weeping center of my body. I urge his head forward, deeper into the V of my legs, unashamed to ask for what I want. Prepared to demand it if he tries to go slow, to go easy.
“Banner,” he says, still kneeling, his hair damp and cool against my thigh. “Watch me eat this pussy.”