I’d forgotten the intensity of a first kiss—the buzz of it low in my stomach, the shock of it stealing my breath.
He trailed his tongue down the apex of my neck, sucking the skin at my collar bone as he rocked his hips against me. I gasped at the feel of him pressed against the seam of my shorts, rubbing the ache I felt until I winced against the need for relief.
“Anderson,” I whispered and he groaned as if my voice had pulled him back to reality.
He slowed, hands still hanging on to me as he rested his forehead against my own, our breaths colliding in the space between us. My hands tangled in his hair, tugging, gripping, unsure if they wanted him closer or to push him to the other side of the room.
This was dangerous—we both knew it.
I wanted to shut my brain up, be like my friends who didn’t think about how they’d feel about having sex until after it was already done, but Anderson wasn’t just a hook up, and I knew that before he even took me to bed. I felt him in every part of me, and I knew we were about to cross a line we could never come back from.
Anderson’s mouth parted, eyes closed tight like he was experiencing the same struggle, but it was in that moment that I felt the raw demand. I’d had a glimpse of it that morning when he’d been on my porch. I’d seen him hurting, and now he stood in my kitchen with his hands holding on tight, that pain exponentially more present.
“I need you.”
His voice was low, the bass of it connected to the blood pulsing through my veins. Those three words unraveled any uncertainty I had.
I couldn’t be certain that I wasn’t setting myself up for heartache, or that I wasn’t doing the same to him, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.
He needed me.
I didn’t know why—didn’t need to know why—because the truth was I needed him, too.
And more than that, I wanted him, so badly it physically pained me.
So I pulled him in, kissing him with intent, with the permission he needed, and we both let go. We left the questions, the expectations, the fears, all of them shed like clothing on the edge of the cliff we both jumped off willingly.
He lifted me again, our mouths still tasting as he carried me up the stairs. I felt so light, so small in his arms. One hand found the string of my top when we hit the top stair and he pulled, letting it drop between us before tossing it to the floor.
He lowered me to the bed and I unwrapped my legs long enough for him to tug his shirt up and over his head. The hard edges of his body were menacing in the shadows, the only light in my bedroom coming from the half moon outside. I kept my eyes on his as I tucked my thumbs under the hem of my shorts, flicking the button open before tugging them down and kicking them to the side.
He reached for his belt, eyes on where I pulled the strings of my bathing suit bottoms. And when he let his jeans fall to the floor and kicked out of his boxer briefs, I couldn’t stand the space any longer. I reached for him, pulling him down until his lips met mine again. I arched toward him, hands running the length of his abdomen until I wrapped them around him and he groaned, thrusting into my touch.
Every move he made, every sound from his lips zipped on a hot wire straight down between my legs. A need that had rested like a sleeping giant within me had awaken not slowly, but violently, consuming me with a burn that only Anderson’s touch could soothe.
He bent, kissing his way down my neck and chest as I threw my head back with a gasp at the feel of him. Then his hands hooked around my thighs, tugging me to the edge of the bed, and I looked down just in time to see his mouth connect where I ached the most.
The sweep of his tongue was hot and demanding, my toes curling at the sensation where they hung over his shoulder. It was almost too much, finally touching him, him finally touching me. He was just supposed to be a neighbor, a friend, someone to talk to and help around the cabin but now that I’d tasted him I knew we’d never go back to that.
I never wanted to.
He sucked my clit as if he already knew the pressure needed to set me off, his fingers dipping down to slide inside me slowly. I gripped the sheets, twisting them in my hands as my back bent from the bed, gasps growing louder. I could have come right then, just from that one motion, but I wanted more.
I leaned up quickly, tightening my fists in his hair and guiding him up to my mouth. The taste of me was still fresh on his lips as I pulled him back onto the bed, his thighs spreading my own as he settled on top of me. The length of him slid against my wet opening and we both moaned, my heels digging into his backside with a pleading whisper on my lips.
“Wait,” he commanded.
It was the first word he’d spoken since I’d given him the permission he asked for, and it was the last word I wanted to hear. I whimpered when he pushed off, hands reaching blindly for his jeans. He pulled out his wallet and fished through it before pulling out a condom. I hadn’t even thought of asking him to wear one, and for some reason it turned me on even more that he was careful, that he was able to think straight enough to be safe with me.
He tore at the packaging with his teeth and pushed back off the bed, standing on his knees above me. My fingers rounded the swell of my breast and my other hand reached for my clit as he slid the condom on, his hands rolling, the length of him straining as he stretched the condom over himself. It felt forbidden, watching him in the moonlight, every inch of him hard and dark and pulsing with want.
He fell back on top of me, tongue circling the nipple I played with before moving my hand away and sucking it between his teeth. I arched into him and he slid one arm under me, pulling me closer, the tip of him lined up at my entrance.
Just a push, an inch, the slightest shift and he’d be inside me, and everything would change.
He seemed torn between taking his time and exploring me or giving into the need we both felt, so I used my heels to pull him in, just a centimeter, tightening around him as he cursed into my chest.
I knew just from the sight of him that he was the biggest I’d ever had, which wasn’t saying much since I’d only had two before him, but even still I wasn’t prepared for what he’d feel like. His arms slipped under my shoulders, hands holding on and pulling closer as he slid inside me. I tightened, gasping, vision invaded with a black blur at the fullness of him.
“Goddamn, Wren,” he breathed, sliding out slowly before rocking in again. I clawed at his back, desperate to feel more as he stretched me open for him. When he pushed up from the bed, grabbing my hips and thrusting inside with more depth, I cried out, hands flying to grip the sheets again. I needed something to hold onto, something to pull into ecstasy with me.