Ian presses his lips to the side of my neck, and every hot breath he releases rushes past my skin. I brace a hand against the cabinet and try to push back against him, but he’s got me pinned against the counter, and I can barely move.
“Just stay like that,” he pants. “Let me…let me…”
Oh, I let him. I hold myself in place as much as I can, and he slams into me again and again, pounding me so hard, it’s deliciously painful. I’m begging him not to stop. Or at least I think I am. I want to. Whether my mouth can form the words is another matter. Still, he must know what I want, or maybe he’s just so far gone himself that all he wants to do is try to force himself deeper and deeper.
My knees are going to tremble right out from under me. My hand slips off the cabinet. I drop onto my elbows, letting my head fall forward, and I distantly hear myself cry out, and without even touching myself, I come, driven on and on by Ian’s powerful thrusts. He grunts, and he thrusts so hard, the edge of the counter bites into my hipbones, and he holds me there, pinning me in place as his cock pulses inside me. “Fuck,” he breathes, and one last shudder goes through him.
Thank God for the counter. As we tremble and catch our breath, it’s about the only thing keeping us both from melting to the floor.
He pulls out and then kisses the base of my neck. “Go get in the shower. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Speech isn’t possible, so I just nod and make a half-assed attempt at fixing my clothes. My legs are shaky and my head’s still spinning, but I manage to get upstairs to the master bedroom. I strip out of my clothes, clean some of the oil off my skin, and then do as I’m told—into the shower.
I don’t know how long it’s been since we’ve had spontaneous sex like that. A blowjob here and there, maybe, but full-on fucking that can’t even wait until we find actual lube? Oh God. We need to do that more often.
A few minutes after I get in the shower, Ian joins me, and it’s instantly clear that he’s not at all interested in stopping. Though we’re making a somewhat concerted effort to get clean, his lips are on me almost constantly—on my neck, my shoulders, my mouth. His hands are everywhere, sliding over wet skin and digging nails in now and then to make me gasp. I love it when he gets like this. When he’s demanding and insatiable and utterly fucking relentless. After all the fraught, uneasy sex I’ve had with Michael lately, I need this. I need to remember what it’s like to just let go with someone who can let go.
Ian turns off the shower. We dry off—sort of—and then tumble into bed. God, he feels good—hot skin against mine, his cock hardening again, his lips skating across my neck and collarbone. Yeah, he’s definitely not done. And neither am I. I don’t care if I can function tomorrow—I want everything he’s willing to give me tonight. We’re both hard, and panting, and grinding together, and clawing at each other.
Then Ian reaches for the nightstand. “Knees.”
“’kay.”
We’re down to single syllables. I’m surprised either of us is that articulate.
I’ve barely gotten myself situated before Ian’s against me, and then he’s inside me, and he’s fucking me again, slamming into me painfully deep and hard, and I can’t get enough. My elbows falter, then collapse under me, and I drop onto my forearms as my husband fucks me exactly the way I love it. Exactly the way I’ve been needing it and didn’t even know it. It’s just us tonight, no one from the past or the present in between us—it’s him, and me, and the violent, bed-shaking sex we’ve had since day one.
“Harder,” I whimper. “F-fuck me harder.”
Ian groans, and he pounds me so hard, my vision blurs. My knees burn on the sheets, and every thrust reverberates up my spine, and I dig the heels of my hands into the mattress and push myself back against him, searching for more even though I can’t take any more.
I lift myself up as much as I can and reach beneath us. As soon as I start jerking myself off, Ian’s dick seems to get even thicker as I tighten around him. He curses under his breath and grips my hips tighter, but his rhythm falters like it sometimes does when he’s getting tired.
I find enough breath to murmur, “Let me get on top.”
Ian slows, then stops. “Good call.”
He pulls out and rolls onto his back. I climb on top, and we both curse as I lower myself onto his cock. I ride him just the way he loves it—hard, rocking my hips, trying to force the breath out of him every time I come down. He meets me halfway too. He doesn’t hold on to me, but every time I come down, he thrusts up, and even though I’ve come once tonight, and I’m already sensitive enough that this could get painful in a hurry, I love it.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Lemme see you get yourself off.”
I balance on one arm and, with the other hand, start jerking my cock.