Ravenous, Easton breaks the kiss to take the whole of my breast into his mouth. His head bobs as he suckles, lashes fluttering along his sculpted cheeks as he eagerly feeds while gathering my dress in his hand. He only pauses to lift it from me and toss it away like a nuisance. Hands pinning my wrists to the door, he kisses and kisses me as I feed him more truth with my own—allowing my emotions to take over, allowing him to see.
Frenzied, we take and take until he breaks away. With one inhale, his dark expression seizes me as I stand in nothing but desire-filled anticipation and heels. Lust and intent in his hazel eyes, he abruptly turns us, his hand on my throat, calloused fingers pressing gently into the sides of it as he walks me backward to the edge of the bed. Lifting my leg over his hip, he hastily lowers his jeans and boxers. The instant my back hits the mattress, Easton buries himself inside me in one unforgiving thrust. The second he rears back and presses in again, I start to come apart. My entire body ripples in ecstasy as he stares down at me, mouth parted while hastening his thrusts.
“Jesus…fuck,” he curses as I tighten around him, my body quaking as pleasure unfurls through every fiber of my being. Grappling as I come down, I barely manage to grip the sheets in my fists before he drags me to the very edge of the bed. Unleashed, he frantically begins fucking me as I cry out to him, for him, over and over—the full feel of him is ecstasy in its purest form.
Within seconds, I begin to meet him thrust for thrust, following his gaze to where we’re connected to see my stretch around him—the sight of it driving me straight back to the brink.
“Look at us, baby,” he growls, the edge in his voice the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Eyes closing, Easton dips, swallowing my cries with the thorough sweep of his tongue before he methodically begins rolling his hips. His stuttered exhale hits my neck as I begin to spasm around him, “There it is, baby. Let go.”
I obey, and he lifts my hips, grinding himself into me—running the ridge of his cock along my clit and prolonging it, satisfaction gleaming in his hooded gaze.
Panting, chests collectively heaving, he dips and kisses me thoroughly before pulling out of me to fully undress. His shirt is the first to go, and the sight of it bare is nothing short of glorious. I devour him, my eyes trailing his defined chest, sculpted torso, and further down, drinking in his deeply defined V.
“Let me see you,” he commands, ripping off his boots.
Heels still on, I spread my legs as he sheds his jeans and boxers together, his gorgeous cock bobbing as he grips it and strokes it from root to tip while biting his lip.
“So. Much. Fucking. Beauty,” he whispers roughly before releasing himself and kneeling on the mattress. Gliding his palms simultaneously up my thighs and further up my sides, he grips my hands and threads our fingers before pinning them next to my head. Eyes roaming, he aligns his body with mine, the cross dangling from his neck gliding through the valley between my breasts before he lines the head of himself up with my entrance. Arching my back, I lift my hips in invitation, greedy for more as he hovers above me.
Unwilling to damn myself with more words, I lock my legs around him as he watches me intently, waiting. I soak in the details of his face as my heart goes completely raw for him, and his eyes search mine.
“Say it,” he whispers.
“I’m scared.”
“Good.”
“God, you’re a real bastard,” I murmur, writhing beneath him, squeezing our clasped hands as he keeps them pinned.
“On this, we agree,” he murmurs in reply.
“Good,” I fire back, “because we don’t seem to agree on much lately.”
“And we won’t when you fight me on what feels like mine.”
“I want that part to be true. It feels true.”
“It is, Beauty,” his possessive lilt hits before he slowly, so slowly, pushes back into me. “I’m making fucking sure of it.” He presses into me the rest of the way, staking his claim.
Fully connected, we call out to the other skin to skin, heart to heart, as he pulls back and buries himself again and again, watching me intently. Body flooding with sensation, heart soaring, I free myself to believe his words. To believe in what I feel. That this is real. That we will work.
Heart rocketing to a marathon pace, I stare up at him, mouth parting as he palms my thighs further apart and watches himself disappear inside me. Keeping his thrusts slow and deliberate, forcing me to acknowledge this is so much more than attraction and sex. A truth I’ve known all along but have been too terrified to admit to both of us. The more I allow myself to feel, the more frantically we begin to move as if we’ve been apart for far longer than eight weeks.
My entire body trembles as he takes us both to the brink repeatedly and past, while staring back at me with soul-stealing intensity.
Lost in his rapture, I find myself feeling whole, and then I lose the pieces I’ve been grasping onto so tightly right back to him.
We exhaust ourselves to the point my throat dries, my voice going hoarse with my whispers and cries as he ravages me, body, heart, and mind.
At the sight of something he sees in my eyes, he dips and gives me the longest, most intoxicating kiss of my life. Inside of that kiss, I collide with my supernova going a million miles an hour, all space between us diminishing in its entirety.
Easton’s groan rumbles against my lips as he stills on a deep thrust, spilling into me again. Exhausted and spent, he rolls us and situates me on his lap, still inside me, refusing withdrawal. Feeling like I’m floating, I rest on his chest as he cradles me in his warmth. It’s only when I notice sunlight flooding the hotel room that I realize we’ve been so immersed in each other that I’d lost all sense of time.
“Easton,” I whisper, my cheek to his chest while mentally recalling I got to the party shortly past one. “We’ve been—”
“Yeah,” he runs a gentle palm down my spine, “we have.”
“I didn’t even realize.”
“I know.”
Still straddling him, I lift, glancing around in a daze before staring back down at him and palming his chest. Sweat glides down his temple, and my skin erupts in chills as I realize the sheets are soaked through. Bewildered, I shake my head. “What in the hell just happened?”
He grips my hip with one hand and strokes my face with the other, his eyes injecting me with the truth. “What’s been happening since the day we met,” he lifts to sit before pressing a long, slow kiss to my lips. “Welcome to this side of the glass, Beauty.”
Heaven Sent
Mr. Little Jeans
Natalie
“You owe me one hell of an apology,” I scold as Easton’s lips roam over my stomach.
“I believe,” he licks a slow, seductive path along my gold chain, which is surprisingly still intact after endless hours of intense lovemaking, “I’ve been apologizing profusely for hours. But I’m sorry,” he offers, pausing to look up at me. I expect to see a smirk, or at the very least, a sly smile, but instead am met with sincerity.
“Do you know what you’re apologizing for?”
He frowns. “Have you been dating nothing but toddlers? I’m sorry for being a dick yesterday,” kiss, “and last night,” kiss, “and for the song. I’m not proud of myself.”
“That song…you believe that’s who I really am?”
“No, I believe that’s who you portray yourself to be when you’re uncomfortable dealing with real shit.” This time he does smirk, “Sleeping Beauty.”
“Ah, so there’s the double entendre to my nickname. Thanks for ruining it.”
“It will only feel condescending when you play immune.”
“I told you when we met that I’m aware of my behavior at all times, even if I’m not acting in a certain way or saying things other people want or expect me to.” I run my fingers through his thick, damp hair. “And those are two distinct definitions. Playing immune—not affected or influenced by and acknowledging—to accept or admit the truth of. I’ve never been immune to you, Easton, I just refused to acknowledge it, and you know why.”
He runs a lazy finger around my navel. “Desperate times, drastic measures. You were leaving, again. You weren’t going to answer my calls, again.”
“So, you threw a party to try and convince me?”
“No,” he clips out, lowering his gaze.