Grabbing up my mop of hair, I gather it in a bunch and hold it to my head with one hand. Then, he’s behind me, his skin to mine, his erection pressed to my lower back. I’m trembling as I await his next move. My need for him consuming every thought process, every sense I possess.
Placing one gentle kiss on my shoulder, he whispers against my skin, “That day you cut the grass. You had your hair tied up . . .” his hands glide from my hips, slowly and agonizingly, until they’re just beneath the swells of my breasts, “all I could think about was what it would be like to come up behind you and kiss your neck.” A surge runs through me as I fight the urge to lean back against him. “Seems so little, I know,” he chuckles huskily, “but I’ve fucking fantasized about it over and over. What would it feel like? How soft would your skin feel against my lips? How would you taste? What sounds would you make?” When he kisses my shoulder again, his lips barely brushing my flesh, a moan escapes me. “Damn, Demi,” he groans as he kisses toward my neck, each one growing harder. “It’s better than I could have ever imagined.”
When his hand moves up my back and threads my hair, forcing mine away, I reach back and hold his firm hips to keep myself steady as Connor Stevens somehow turns me on more than I’ve ever experienced in my life by simply kissing my neck. “Don’t ever doubt my want for you,” he says, between kisses. “I don’t think a man has ever wanted a woman as much as I want you, beautiful.” His words are like bolts of pleasure that rack my body. I can’t take it anymore. I need him. I pull away and turn to face him, and he takes my hand, leading me back to the swing, sitting on it. Pulling me toward him, he kisses my belly as he slowly slips my panties down. My body trembles with desire as I hold his firm shoulders and step out of them.
“There are so many things I want to do to you, that I need to do to you, but right now . . . fuck,” he groans, “Demi, I just need you.” I want to tell him I feel the same, that I feel like I’m being eaten alive with desire for him, but my mouth won’t let me speak the words. Instead, I climb on his lap so that I’m straddling him, and with the head of his cock pressed to me, ready to enter me, I kiss him as I bare down, but his firm hands stop me. When he looks up at me, his eyes hooded, filled with lust. “Slow, Demi,” he orders me. “Go so painfully slow. I want to memorize and remember every single millisecond of this.”
Then he pulls my head to his and as our lips crush together, I push down slowly until Connor is seated inside of me as far as he can go. We spend hours on the swing, slow and steady, deep and raw. A few times, lost in the moment, the passion, I speed up, but Connor pulls me back, and I relish in the torture of it. It isn’t just making love, it’s a dance, a conversation, it’s . . . everything.
After Connor and I make love, he carries me inside and up to the master bedroom. We don’t speak. Not a word. We just feel. Words aren’t needed. We let our mouths, and hands, and bodies do all the talking. His touch says everything. His kiss whispers beautiful words of hope and promise. His body against mine as he moves inside of me tells me how he worships me.
No.
Words aren’t needed.
Connor Stevens isn’t a man of many words, yet he somehow speaks volumes. It’s dark out by the time we finish. We’re both exhausted and sweaty when he crawls out of bed, opening the window, letting in some cool air. Then he returns beside me, both of us still naked, and pulls me close. With my head on his chest listening to the beat of his heart, his hand threading my hair over and over, and the sound of the rain falling outside, I fall into a deep sleep.