I stilled, breathing heavy against her chin. “Are you telling me to stop?”
“God, no! Go. Go. Go. Do not stop.” She wiggled impatiently, panting. “I’d ask you to please fuck me, but I don’t think you’d appreciate that kind of language.”
Lifting her higher, one of her legs wrapped around my hips as I positioned myself, rubbing the head of my dick over her slick center. “Then ask me to make love to you instead.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Make love to me,” she sighed, her voice pleading. “Make love to me, Beau.”
So I did. I entered her, filling her, and I was surrounded. She sucked in a breath, and then moaned, her short nails digging into my shoulders.
Meanwhile, I shuddered, the feel of her too intense, her body, her breath, and her touch overwhelming.
“You feel . . .”
“How do I feel?” I demanded, gritting my teeth against the fierce urgency for completion. We’d just started, but there was no way I was going to last. It had been so long, so long. And that meant our time was short.
So I stalled, wrestling for control, asking again, “How do I feel?”
Her torso was so long, her breasts were right where I’d wanted them, in my face, giving me easy access to lick and bite and savor. But I couldn’t, not if I wanted to be inside her for longer than mere seconds.
But then Shelly bent her head, her fingers coming to my cheeks and lifting my chin. “Move, Beau.”
“I need a minute.”
“Come for me,” she whispered. “Come for me. And we’ll make love again, anywhere you want. On the couch, in my bed, in your car.”
I groaned at the imagery. “You first.”
I was tempted to start thinking unsexy thoughts just to last longer.
She tilted her hips, rubbing her body against mine, encouraging me to move. “Don’t be afraid. We have forever.”
We have forever.
Trusting her, I moved. I moved once and a stab of forceful pleasure ignited at the base of my spine. My thrusts were inelegant, rough, needy and she answered by giving me tender kisses and soft moans.
“Oh, God. Shelly.”
“Come inside me.”
Control lost, I did. Every one of my muscles tensed as I pumped into her, needing it. Needing her, needing her now. I couldn’t think beyond right now, beyond the stars at the edges of my vision and the hot pleasure racing through my body.
26
“The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled.”
― Plutarch
* * *
*Beau*
I didn’t have even ten seconds to get my bearings, or wallow in the disappointment of coming too fast, before Shelly began kissing me in earnest again, her hands moving over my body.
Easing her down, I returned the desperation of her mouth in kind, leaving a trail of licks and bites over her jaw and neck, to that spot I knew she loved. Swirling my tongue, she reflexively tilted her head toward her shoulder, arching against me.
“Give me until the count of twenty,” she said, her words breathless.
“What?”
Placing her hands flat against my chest, she pushed me away gently. “Count to twenty after I go, and meet me in my room.”
I reached for her. “Shell—”
“And no condom this time, please. I don’t like how they feel.” She slipped past me, feeling along the wall as she went and pausing just briefly to flick on a light switch. The soft glow of the overhead light illuminated her extraordinary body, the long line of her smooth legs, the span of her gorgeous shoulders and back, her perfect backside, the taper of her waist.
Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes moved down and then up my body. I got the fleeting sense she was admiring me as well.
Shelly’s mouth, now swollen from our kisses, curved into a small smile as her gaze connected with mine. “You are beautiful, Beau Winston.”
Then she darted around the corner.
Gathering my wits, or the ones that remained, I stepped out of my jeans and crossed to the bathroom. Autopilot had switched on, the sexy kind, where all I could see were flashes of fantasy, of how we’d already been together, of how I wanted her next, and of how I’d take her the time after that.
Finished, I walked to her room, and paused just inside the door.
The overhead light was on and she’d taken all the loose blankets off the bed, leaving just the fitted sheet. There weren’t even any pillows. Shelly was standing next to her closet, like she’d just shut the door to it.
And she was naked.
“They distract me,” she said, like it was an apology.
I only tangentially heard her, and it took me a few seconds to understand her meaning, because—like a man dying of thirst—I was too busy drinking her in.
“I don’t care if the room is bare,” I said without thinking, moving, needing to touch her, “just as long as you’re in it.”
She turned toward me as I approached, sighed a little sigh as I slipped my hand around her waist and brought our bodies together. Once again, I was backing her up. But this time, as her knees connected with the mattress, she landed on a bed.
I took a split second to admire the sight of her lying there, her hair wild, her gorgeous breasts already marked by my mouth, her open legs, her willing body—naked and mine. About to be mine again, just as I was now hers.
And I noticed, with more than a little amusement and satisfaction, that her wide eyes were on my dick. I didn’t think her reaction was because I was big—I was big—but more because I was already ready to go.
“God bless twenty-four-year-olds.” Her words were breathless.
I climbed over her, sliding my skin against hers, enjoying the heat of friction between us.
“I’m almost twenty-five.” I wagged my eyebrows.
She chuckled and I captured the laugh on her lips until it became a moan. I kissed her, fondling her breast, then sliding my hand down her body, between her open legs. I opened them further, spreading her wide until she parted. Circling her clit with light, teasing touches, I pulled a ragged moan from her, one that scorched my skin and ignited fire in my veins.
Then I slid myself down her body, kissing as I went, tasting the heat and salt of her skin. My mouth watered in anticipation.
But when I reached her hip, she tensed, as though just realizing my intent. “Wait, wait—”
I glanced at her, at the wild quality in her eyes.
She shook her head. “Don’t do that.”
I licked my lips, my brow pulling together in confusion. “What? Why?”
“You don’t like it.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Men don’t like it. They only pretend they do.”
“Uh, nope.” I shook my head, intent on my course, nuzzling her sex.
She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked frantically. It hurt.
“Beau, don’t.”
“Woman, I’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks. Kindly release my hair.”
She didn’t. She just stared at me, beset with anxiety.
Every part of me strained toward that sweet spot, so close. I was starving for her, and she was worried I wouldn’t like it.
I tried a different approach. “Do you like it?”