Hate To Love You

He fell onto the bed, catching himself so he was braced above me on his hands. Long minutes passed as he took his time to look me up and down. That only made me hotter. I began writhing, just wanting him, needing him to fulfill a throb between my legs.

He paused, his eyes finding mine, and he shifted on his weight so he was resting on his side. He propped himself up, his hand tracing down the side of my face tenderly. His thumb rested on my lips, and he asked so softly. “Are you for sure about this? Really?”

“Yeah.” I turned my head so I was facing him directly. Our lips were inches apart. “Why?”

“You hate me.”

I shook my head. “I don’t right now.”

“You will tomorrow.”

I touched the side of his face and shook my head. “I might hate you if you don’t touch me.”

He groaned, his eyes smoldering. “Then God help us.” And his lips were on mine again, where I’d been aching for them since they left.

He was demanding. He was commanding. He was consuming. I answered every call of his. I was panting as he skimmed his hand down my front, smoothed over my stomach, and pushed up under my shirt. I was breathing heavy as it was lifted up, and I wound my arms back around his neck, feeling him fall back down slowly until his weight was on top of me.

Goddamn. That felt right, so right.

We were kissing, our lips fused together, and his tongue moved inside. I answered it with mine, and there was a whole other battle ensuing there as he unclasped my bra and then caught one breast in his hand. He encircled it, his thumb rubbing over my nipple, making me shiver. I ran a hand down his back, down his side, and delighted as he trembled under my touch. Returning the favor, I pulled his shirt up, forcing him to break the kiss long enough to free him of the fabric.

Then he was back on me, skin to skin, lips to lips, and I could’ve lain like that for hours. We did the other night, but this had a different feel to it. There was more. I needed more. He wanted more. We were giving more.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, pulling away but only to start kissing down my throat, my chest, then he found one of my nipples.

I gasped, grabbing on to him as if he were my anchor.

He chuckled, his breath another sensual caress, and his tongue laved over my nipple. Then he moved to the other one, and he began the same. He tasted it. He ran his tongue over it, and he enjoyed how I was gasping at each swirl, each lick, each nip, and every time he touched me. He was worshipping my body, moving down my stomach, lingering there as his hands paused over my jeans. He found the button, and he glanced up. He was waiting. Biting my lip, I nodded my assent, and his fingers popped the button before slowly sliding the zipper down.

His hand slid inside my underwear, finding my center, and then he slid a finger in.

I arched my back, wanting him to go deeper. I wasn’t even joking. I croaked out, “Move that finger, or I’m going to go crazy.”

He laughed, dipping his head down to press a kiss on my stomach, and then he started moving in and out. His hand kept going. I began moving with him, only answering whatever his hand wanted of me, and after a bit, he slipped a second finger, then a third. He kept going deeper with each thrust until I swore I could feel him in my stomach. He’d pull them out and start all over again.

The pleasure was almost blinding.

I kept gasping and moving with him, but he didn’t pick up the pace. He went at his own, content to watch me go nuts. At one point, he looked up, a tenderness in his eyes that I’d never seen before, and he grinned. The smile was slow, and it broke me.

I went over the edge, and I was gasping as my climax slammed into me.

I didn’t understand that look. It was something deep, and it moved something in me, something that I’d never felt touched before. I wasn’t talking about my body or physical caresses. I didn’t understand it, but when he pulled his hand out and moved farther up my body, I reached and guided his lips to mine.

This kiss was different.

It was slow. It was tender. It was special.

It made my toes curl, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to reach for a condom. He grabbed one and then helped me tug the rest of my clothes off. His found the floor next to mine, and Shay rose above me. He waited at my center. I’d just had his fingers there. I was more than ready for the rest of him, and with another kiss, he dipped his mouth down to my shoulder and edged inside.

He felt right.

He stretched my insides and waited for me to acclimate to him before he began thrusting. In and out. He was moving in me, and I was moving with him. It was what I’d been wanting, and it felt so right.

I grasped his shoulders, my nails curving into his skin, and as he thrust inside me, I raked those nails down him.

I felt a scream building, and I muffled it in my throat, but I wanted to yell out.

My mouth was open as he kept moving, in and out, deeper and deeper. The rhythm was steady, the waves were riding over me, and he began going faster.

“Shay,” I whimpered, needing something I couldn’t articulate.

His lips found mine, and he paused, grinding into me. Good God, that felt good. He raised himself, pulling out, only to slide back in once more. He went as deep as he had gone with his fingers, and I could feel him coming close. My body was beginning to twitch. The pressure was building, but he pulled out and turned me over. He bent over my back, sliding back inside, and I moved my head. Our lips caught and held.

He began pounding into me.

I gasped, arching my chest out.

Shay leaned up, his hands finding my hips, and he went harder and harder.

I hurtled over the edge, falling down onto the bed. I caught myself, as his hand skimmed my back. He kissed me tenderly, and then he finished.

We stayed in place. I was bent over. He was holding himself upright, his hand resting on my ass, and then he bent over me. His lips grazed my shoulder, and he pulled out, falling to the bed beside me.

I was panting for breath.

He was, too, and he curled an arm around my waist, spooning me from the back. He fit alongside me, molding his body to mine as his arms wrapped tightly around me. I lie there, riding out the tremors of my climax as he peppered my bare shoulder with slow, lazy kisses.

After a moment, once our breathing had returned to normal, he slipped his leg between mine and buried his head into my shoulder.

“So.” He kissed my neck softly. “We did that.”

I laughed, patting his hand tucked under my breast. “Is that what we did?”

He chuckled into me, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of him. “Something like that.” He rested on his back, loosening his hold on me, and I turned over so I was lying on my side, facing him. I rested a hand on his chest, and his eyes watched mine until his hand found my own.

I murmured, “I don’t regret that.”

He hooked his finger around mine. “Really?”

I nodded. I couldn’t, not anymore. Not after we made out in my closet, then my bed, and after I was practically begging him for it at the bar.

I croaked, “I touched your bulge.”

He started laughing, curving more into me. “You did.”

“It was the most momentous and memorable part of the night.”