I wasn’t quit sitting astride him, but so tantalizingly close. He groaned and cupped my ass, pulling me all the way onto his lap.
I gasped, feeling his erection against me, struggling against the urge to squirm, to give me some friction.
He held my ass in his hands, rhythmically pushing me closer, as if to ask me to pick up a rhythm, give him that same friction I wanted. His mouth trailed over my neck, as wet and hot as I was already. I arched into him, turning my face away to allow him to nip at my ear, his lips sliding lower, soft and wet as he kissed across my collarbone, down to the edge of my shirt.
“You smell so good,” he murmured, pulling my top down just enough to kiss the round swell of my breasts.
I buried my fingers in his hair as I bucked over top of him, wishing our clothing wasn’t keeping us apart. I curled my legs round him, wanting him closer.
But we were on his back patio, and although it was private, it still felt so very public.
As if he’d read my mind, he stood, easily picking me up with him. I hooked my legs together behind his back as his hands slid under my ass. He kissed me again, possessing my mouth as he carried me through the patio door, kicking it shut behind us.
Moments later we tumbled onto the deep pile rug in his living room, me pinned beneath him, his breathing ragged. And then he kissed me again, his hands sliding down my sides and up under my shirt. He pushed it upward, exposing the red lace of my bra. He kissed my breasts, and I tipped my head back, staring upward at the ceiling as my pulse roared in my ears.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his hand slipping behind my back and unhooking my bra.
The air was cold against my bare, skin, my nipples hardening before he could cover one with his mouth, his tongue hot and wet as it circled the tip.
I wanted him.
Now.
I slipped my hand under his shirt, gliding my fingers up over the rippling muscles of his abs. His skin was fiery hot to the touch, and I pulled his shirt over his head. He broke his kiss on my breasts, just long enough to get his shirt off before he began kissing a trail down my stomach, his breath hot against my belly. My body throbbed, painfully aware of his every touch, his every breath.
It was all too slow. I wanted him to yank my clothes off, plunge inside me, fill the place where I ached. Fill me the way he had never done before.
We’d come so close that one time—but never as far as I’d wanted. As I needed.
And I’d dreamed so many times that it could happen between us, thought about it so much that I’d thought I was going insane. But now it was really happening now and I was powerless to stop what my body had been crying out for.
He slid my pants off, removing his own before he was hovering over me again, propped up on his elbows as he slid his hands up my arms, lifting them over my head. He pinned me like that, kissing my temple, my ear, my neck. His tender mouth was at odds with the possessive way he held my arms down.
I was panting for him, squeezing him closer with my legs, desperate to feel him inside me. He was wearing boxer briefs, but the thin layer of them and my panties wasn’t enough to mask the hard ridge of his cock, pressing into me. Frustratingly close, but it wasn’t enough.
His hips ground down on me, and he moved against me, the friction causing me to moan as my back pressed into the rug. I writhed against him, my hands still pinned over my head, utterly useless. I wanted to touch him.
I wanted to taste him.
“I want you,” he whispered, his voice husky, making me throb with my own want.
I looked at him, unsure for just a moment. “What if—”
He kissed my mouth deeply, stopping my questions, his tongue pushing in and linking with mine before he broke away again. “No what if’s,” he said firmly, digging his hips into mine as I moaned.
He was right.
No what if’s. I wanted to live without them for once, to just let go and be free of all of the baggage that had weighed me down these last three years.
He clasped my wrists together in one hand, then moved the other, dipping lower, twisting the ribbon-thin line of my underwear in his hand. It pulled tight against my hip, until the fabric gave way, breaking in his hand.
And then he shoved it down my other thigh, leaving me bare, exposed to the air and him. He nudged my thighs, pushing my legs father apart as he moved upward, until his cock--still covered by his boxers—rubbed against my clit.
I groaned again, arching against him. Desperate for more.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, his breath hot in my ear as he ground against me, harder now.
“I want you,” I said, twisting, pulling at my arms. I wanted him to let me go, if only so I could shove his boxers down, take him in my hand and guide him inside me. “Please,” I whispered, clenching my legs to force him even closer.
“Please what?” he asked, kissing his way across my neck, his breath coming out as ragged as my own.
“I need you,” I said, again. I wanted to hate him for doing this, for making me writhe below him, begging for his cock, but I couldn’t.