Gently, he eased her onto her back and then straddled her. His cock brushed her stomach as he leaned over, and he had to pause to take a breath so that he didn’t come right then.
He closed his mouth over her breast, teasing her already tight nipple, then slowly stroking his hand down her abdomen as he eased his way down her body. He saw the way her skin tightened in the wake of his touch, and he felt the quickening of her pulse. She writhed a bit, then reached out, her hands fisting in the sheets as her lips parted on a soft sigh.
He paused, unsure if he’d awakened her. But she was still asleep—she’d stayed up throughout the night worrying about him, and he knew that exhaustion had swept her away.
Slowly, he trailed his fingers down between her legs and used two fingers to stroke her cunt, already slick and wet for him. Slowly he eased those fingers inside her, and when she tightened around him in welcome, a fresh wave of desire, so strong it seemed as though it could destroy him, washed over him. He craved her, dammit, as painfully and potently as a drug. And the glory of it was that she was his. Truly his.
And he didn’t have a clue what he’d done to deserve her.
Rhythmically, he thrust his fingers inside her, keeping his eyes on her face as the pressure built, watching her eyes move behind her closed lids. She was dreaming, he realized, and he couldn’t help but wonder what those dreams entailed.
Then her lips parted, and he heard a soft “yes” drift from her lips.
Right then, that single word was the most erotic—and most powerful—sound he had ever heard. And just in time, too. Because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to be inside her. Had to have her before the need destroyed him.
He lowered himself over her, his cock pressing against her slick cunt. She was so wet that he slid into her easily, gratified by the way her hips rose in silent welcome. He thrust in deep, filling her so completely that his balls rubbed against her, and his cock tightened even more inside her. Again and again, and with each thrust he watched her face, bathed in passion even though she was still lost in sleep.
And then, oh Christ, she murmured his name. Still lost in slumber, but so desperately aroused.
And so very, very his.
eight
I am not Sylvia—I am simply pleasure, surging forward like a wave. Pushing up with such force and perfection I am surprised that I can bear it, and at any moment I expect to explode, rendered to ash by the heat and power of these decadent sensations that flow through me.
It is the thought of such an explosion that brings me back to myself. That settles awareness over me. My limbs. My breasts.
The desperate, heated ache between my legs.
I am motion.
I am wild.
I am lost, scattered to the wind by the glorious sensations bursting through me. The pressure filling me. The rhythmic motion of my body. The heat above me, and the musky scent of him that fills my senses and rocks me to my core.
“Jackson.”
It is his name on my lips that wakes me. Not the fact that he is inside me, because that feels right and glorious and real.
Instinctively, I spread my knees, giving him deeper access even before my conscious brain acknowledges this delicious reality.
“Harder,” I murmur, and as the mist of sleep starts to dissipate, I arch up, wanting more. I am so close. So alive. So sweetly, wonderfully his. “Please,” I beg as he thrusts harder into me. As I reach for him, my hands on his back pulling him against me, wanting everything that he has to give.
I’ve gone from floating to attacking. From peaceful to feral. I want this—oh, dear god, I need this, and hear myself calling to him. His name. My moans. My cries of “Oh, god, yes, fuck me, please, Jackson, please fuck me harder.”
He is above me, his body undulating over mine, his stormy eyes wild with passion. He is filling me up and sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. I am so close—so ready—and I feel more alive and more awake than I have ever been in my life.