Kneeling in front of her, holding my offering between us, my heart in a little blue box.
“Fe?” I prompted, because a creeping uncertainty had taken up residence at the base of my throat.
She flinched, her eyes jumping between the ring and me.
And then she said, “Yes.”
Though it was more of a,
!!!! ? ? ? ? Y E S ? ? ? ? !!!!
Because she’d yelled it—screamed it at me, actually—with a shade of hysterical delight. I didn’t have even a split second to recover, to grin, to rejoice in her response before she launched herself, tackling me to the plush carpet. Quick thinking had me closing the ring box before it was knocked from my hand in her exuberance.
Straddling my hips, Fiona covered my face and neck in kisses. She punctuated each press of her soft lips with another “Yes,” the volume and intonation varying wildly.
I laughed and then groaned as she moved over me, lithe and eager, her body clamoring for intimacy.
“Wait-wait, darling.” I sought to still her movements, but she was surprisingly strong. Though, if I dwelled upon it, her strength wasn’t at all surprising. She could climb walls. And do backflips. And walk on her hands for an indeterminate period of time.
She rocked against my growing erection, driving caution from my mind and the breath from my lungs. Her dress was the problem, because the skirt was virtually nonexistent. The only impediments to a hasty coupling were her inconsequential panties, and my suit pants and boxers.
And, you know, her virginity.
“Make love to me, Greg,” she whispered hotly against my ear, now driving good judgment away. In fact, all noble thoughts and feelings packed their bags, loaded up, and decided to take a vacation for the evening. Selfish desire had pushed them out.
Good riddance.
I flipped her onto her back, and her hands were everywhere—in my hair, pulling at the hem of my shirt, scratching my sides, reaching for the buckle of my belt. The only sign of nerves was the slight trembling of her fingers as she cupped me through my pants.
I batted her hand away because I was prone to make a mess in my boxers if she continued to stroke me with her eager palm.
“Fe, we have to get off—”
“Yes! Let’s get off!”
“—the carpet,” I finished as I straightened away, laughing at her wide, impatient eyes and opportune remark. “We have to get off the carpet.”
She gave me a determined glare, then did that thing only gymnasts know how to do, where one springs off the ground in a blatant display of strength and flexibility, kicking off her shoes as she did so.
As soon as we were both standing she was on me again, backing me into the bed. I grabbed her hands between us.
“Darling, is this your way of telling me you’re feeling sexually frustrated?”
“Frustrated? No.” Now she was trying to climb me with just her legs. “Starved? Yes.”
“Though I’m thoroughly enjoying your exuberance, I really must insist we slow down.” Not because I intended to stop. But rather, much like the first time we’d kissed, I wanted to prepare her for what came next.
“No slowing down.” She rubbed her thigh against my cock, crippling both my ability to think and move. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I honestly don’t care anymore. I want you. I want you so very badly. And I want those bad things you promised . . .”
Well, okay then.
“. . . and I want—”
I cut her off by capturing her mouth with a kiss, turning her such that the backs of her legs were against the mattress, then pushing her on top of it. I reached under her skirt, found her extraordinarily inconsequential lace panties, and pulled them from her legs.
Her wide eyes, though still rimmed with excitement, had grown anxious as well.
Standing over her, trailing my fingertips back along her bare legs, luxuriating in the feel of her, her nervous little exhales, I grinned.
“Prepare yourself. I’m going to kiss you now.”
A panicked question formed between her eyebrows as I knelt to the floor, pressing the flat of my palms against her inner thighs and opening her to me with my thumbs.
“You’re going to . . . ?” She didn’t finish the sentence. Her chest moved up and down with violent breaths.
Here is the truth: I love *.
And hers was petal pink and sensitive and secret, and entirely mine. I lowered my mouth and licked her just once, loving her tortured sounds of shock and awe, the instinctive rolling of her hips, and her mindless abandoned desire. When I began to move in earnest, her hips bucked off the bed, drawing a rumbling laugh from me, and a strangled, feral moan from her.
She was strong. I was stronger. I pressed her back to the bed, held her there with one hand while I drew small circles on the back of her thigh with my fingertips.