"No?" I ask, when our lips finally part.
"No." His fingers circle my clit, over and over. "Because right now I'm going to fuck you, Red. I'm going to slide my cock inside your *, and I'm going to fuck you nice and slow until you're begging me to let you come. And then, when you finally come – when I finally let you come – I'm going to do it again. Because I have a feeling you need to make up for lost time. Am I right?"
Do I need to make up for lost time?
It's been two years since a man has touched me. Only two years of time lost. Except… it's been a lifetime since anyone has touched me the way Luke touches me.
"Well?" he asks.
"Yes." I choke out the word as he slides his finger between my legs, slipping inside me, easily aided by my wetness. "Yes."
17
Autumn
Luke is as good as his word. He fucks me, this time slow – his movements so excruciatingly drawn out that I think I'm going to die in some kind of pleasure-induced stroke as he moves inside me. He fucks me long and slow, holding himself above me with one hand as his other hand roams my body, up my arm, over my breasts, his fingers tangled in my hair as he kisses me. When his hands finally settle in one place, his fingers are interlaced with mine, hands above my head as he drives into me, fucking me with a gentle rhythm that's so natural, so effortless it feels as if we've been doing this forever.
Luke brings me higher and higher until the only thing I'm aware of anymore is how I feel. Every part of my body feels wired, on edge.
"Tell me how it feels," he whispers as the head of his cock presses against me in just the right spot, the place that sends pulses of arousal through my body, all the way down to my fingertips.
"Oh, God, Luke," I moan. How do I tell him that this is unlike anything I've ever felt?
"Fucking you is amazing," he says. "You fit me like you're fucking made for me."
His words send a rush of arousal between my legs. "Your cock..."
"Say it. Tell me how much you like my cock."
"I love your cock." My words are more of a moan than actual words. I want all of him inside me. I want him deeply, and entirely, and completely, and I don't want to let him go.
"I love hearing that come out of your mouth."
"I love your cock." I repeat it, the words liberating. I've never talked like this during sex, never said much of anything, in fact. Until now, I've been quiet. And now, I somehow find my voice.
He speaks to me. He whispers how much he loves my *, bringing me to the edge and then denying me, telling me I can't crash over, that I won't come until he lets me come. And I don’t. I hold off, waiting for him, losing myself in the rhythm with him until it becomes so unbearable that I'm whining, begging him to let me come, telling him how much I need.
I need so much, I tell him. I need him.
Then he tells me to come – no, orders me to come. And when I do, it’s blinding light, an orgasm that seems to wash over my entire body, overtakes my entire self, and sweeps me away. I hear him calling my name, whispering my name over and over as he comes inside me, and I'm clinging to him, my nails digging into his back, clawing at him wildly as I ride wave after wave of pleasure so intense I think I'm on the verge of tears.
Afterward, I lie with my forehead forward against his chest and trying to catch my breath as I come down. We lie there like that, with him inside me, neither of us speaking. The room is still, completely quiet except for our breathing.
"That was…" I start, and then stop. I don't have words for it.
"Pretty fucking awesome," he finishes.
"Yeah."
We lay there silently for a few minutes before Olivia's high-pitched squeal reverberates through the stillness in the house. "Shit," I mutter.
He jumps up, and off the bed, and I'm scrambling to throw on a robe, my heart racing. "We didn't wake her up, did we?" he asks.
"No, we were quiet," I assure him. "She just wakes up sometimes."
"You sure?" he asks, a pained expression on his face.
"Positive." I'm dressed and out the door before I can decide whether the pained look is because he's suddenly remembered that I have a child.
It's a few minutes before I calm Olivia down and get her into her crib, sleeping peacefully as if she never woke at all. Luke is downstairs, his clothes and shoes on, and the realization hits me. He’s slinking out of here.
I stand there, looking at him warily.
"I'm totally not leaving," he says awkwardly, holding up his hand. "I’m just getting Lucy back in here. I let her out a few minutes ago and she’s out chasing something, I’m sure.”
I laugh, wondering why the hell I feel relieved. "You mean you weren't sneaking out?"
Luke laughs. "Shit. No. Is that what you thought?"
I look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Isn't that what you do?"
He stands straighter, practically bristling as he looks at me. "You don't know that."
"Says the guy who has girls blowing up his phone with angry texts?"