My body thrilled at his words, a shock of electricity bolting through me so strongly that for a split second I thought I’d been hit by lightning and had succumbed to the storm. I opened my eyes and saw the truth—that was exactly what had happened. But the storm was Thomas’s eyes.
He pressed his hips forward as his hands tightened their grip, clutching me to him as he pushed into me slowly, short probing strokes that stretched me and drove me wild. He paused, his cock resting for a moment, just inside, teasing. A new wave of wetness flooded my center as my cunt spasmed hungrily, taut muscles quivering, hungry for more.
“Please,” I whimpered as I struggled to maintain eye contact, lust and pleasure clouding my vision. He kissed me back to life, and angled his hand under my head, pressing my forehead to his, still holding me in his gaze.
He plunged forward again, and my cunt sucked him deep, slick walls kissing his cock as he sheathed himself to the hilt. I gasped at the feel of him, his presence filling me so completely, stretching me wholly. It was more than simply flesh in flesh. He haunted me, his eyes piercing mine, possessing me, body and soul.
“Thomas?” I whispered, feeling hot tears welling behind my eyes. I felt consumed, overcome with that same emotional force that had been tormenting me for days. I hadn’t dared to name it, not to him, not even to myself.
“I know,” he said as he thrust gently, his cock slipping slowly in and out. “Shhh, I know, my darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He lowered his head to my breasts and sucked one nipple into his mouth, laving with his tongue until it swelled and hardened almost painfully. He thrust harder now, his cock pistoning into me faster and faster. I felt my orgasm coiling in my belly, the walls of my cunt tightening around his cock like a hot, wet fist. He pounded into me, fucking me into the cushions, hard squelching thrusts that slapped against my clit and raked over my G-spot ruthlessly.
The room felt electric, crackling around us, as if the storm outside had come in. I cried out, and he lifted his head from my breast, dragging both my hands above my head as his eyes locked on mine. I knew what he wanted, to see me, as I saw him. To touch the deepest corners of each other, the rawest edges, those that are only exposed in this moment, only visible to those who can see. I wanted that too, even if it was reckless, even if it might cost me everything. I didn’t care. I needed him to see me. I wanted to see him.
He crushed his mouth to mine, his tongue thrusting into me in time with his hips. I wrapped my legs around him and felt the first waves of orgasm break over my body. He broke the kiss and pressed a hand to my forehead, capturing my eyes with his, holding me safe as I fell and broke around him.
“Thomas.” I gasped his name, my eyes ensnared in his gaze.
“I know,” he said again, and this time, I understood what he knew, saw it, reflected in his eyes. My heart wept as my body reveled. I trembled and shook, my orgasm spiraling through me, arching my back as I erupted. Still he pounded into me, lifting me higher, my body soaring, ecstasy claiming me, as my muscles contracted around his cock, every nerve convulsing with pleasure.
“I…I…” he said, his voice faltering. He held my face in his hands as he came inside me, his eyes searching mine, glistening and raw, as my cunt fisted around him, pumping his cock until he shattered, emptying into me until he was felled. We lay there, euphoric in each other’s arms, his cheek pressed against my hair, the last tremors of orgasm quaking through us as the storm outside raged and thundered.
“I…” he said again.
“I know,” I said, clutching him to me, echoing the words he’d given me just moments before. “Shhhh, I know.” I kissed his eyes, his cheeks and the vein that pulsed in his forehead as he strained against emotion.
Dear God, don’t let him say it, I thought. Not now, not like this. Every non-virgin past the age of sixteen knows you never ever say “I love you” during sex. You just don’t. Not if you’re sane.
But I wasn’t sure I had any sanity left. I didn’t think he did either.
“I just…I…” he said.
“I know,” I said again, my eyes finding his.
“I wondered,” he said, stroking my hair. “I wondered if maybe, but I didn’t want to hope. And then…”
“Don’t say it,” I whispered. “Please, don’t say anything.”
I couldn’t bear it if he did. I would burst into flames if he did—spontaneously combust from this inferno of emotion that was ravaging my heart and my soul.
“Okay,” he said, and even in the dim candlelight I could see his eyes glistening. “Okay, I won’t. You’re right.” He rolled and pulled me with him, our bodies still joined, our hearts still in danger. He brushed the hair away from my cheek and kissed me, all the wonder and strength of this unexpected discovery apparent in the force of his kiss.
I laid my head on his chest and hugged him to me, feeling his muscles stiffen, almost imperceptibly, beneath my cheek.
He doesn’t know, I realized. He thinks I cut him off because I don’t feel the same.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, his tone distant and formal. “I, uh—”