"Well... I was thinking about you," he admitted with a snort, glancing over toward the closet. "Now..."
"Well," I said my hand sliding down his chest, reaching between us, grabbing his cock, "let's see if we can get your focus back on me," I said, gliding his cock up my cleft, sucking in my breath when the thick pressure of it pressed against my clit.
"That'll work," he told me, voice getting rough, his breathing turning shallow.
His hand grabbed my ass harder, used it to guide my body to slide against his, making his cock slick, driving me back upward with the friction.
"Nixon, please," I begged, my nails digging crescents into his shoulder, my body rocking wildly against him.
His hand left my ass, both slipping between our bodies for a moment, handling protection, before grabbing my ass again, using it to guide my body closer.
This time, when his cock slid down, it pressed, pausing there, teasing at fulfillment for a long moment, until the need was a clawing thing, until I couldn't take the torment anymore. I clamped my leg around his ass, and slid my hips down, feeling his cock press deep, filling me completely.
"Fuck," he hissed, his forehead resting on mine for a long second as he took a few deep breaths.
His restraint, meticulously controlled before, disappeared.
He hooked an arm around my lower back as he rolled, pinning me beneath him as his arms planted, pushing up to look down on me as he withdrew, then buried deep again.
Not fast, but deep, making me aware of every inch, my muscles tightening around him.
He kept that pace until I was writhing beneath him, then went harder, faster.
Just when I was sure I was going to tumble over, he jerked away, sitting back on his heels, grabbing my legs, pushing them into my chest, then cocking them to the side, pressing them tightly together as he pinned them to the bed at my side.
When he slammed back inside me, the new position--and the pressure it created--had my whimpers becoming moans, then turning into something else entirely, some ragged, airless sound as his hand slid between our bodies, pressing into my clit, working me up and through.
I soared through the orgasm, feeling suspended in air for a long moment before the pulsations started, hard and deep and overwhelming, making his name cry out of me as my hand reaching for his wrist, holding on for dear life as I kept getting pulled under.
I was just surfacing when I heard him hiss out my name as he planted deep, his body tensing as he came.
"Fuck," he hissed, dropping down behind my body, yanking my hips into him, my ass nestled into his crotch.
His face buried in my neck, his lips pressing in once as his heartbeat hammered into my back, as he tried to slow his ragged breathing.
My heartbeat hammered too, hummingbird wings against my ribcage, as other sensations flooded my body at the same time.
A strange disconnected, floating feeling that somehow existed at the same time as the one where I had never felt more in tune with myself before.
I could feel the rush of air as it filled my chest and belly, the prickling of goosebumps as sweat dried and cooled my skin, the flush over my chest, up my neck, over my cheeks, the heaviness of lifeless limbs, the satisfaction that seemed to course over every nerve ending.
A few moments later, Nixon's breath was even, his heartbeat back to normal. His lips brushed my neck again before he rolled away. "Be right back," he told me, hopping up, the bed bouncing a bit in his departure.
Alone, I took a deep breath, willing some life into my arms so I could pull myself further up on the bed, situating myself on the pillows, slipping under the covers as the air from the fan sent shivers across my skin.
I'd been right.
He was good.
Amazing, even.
And, in my experience, things only got better as you got to know each other, as your comfort level grew, as you learned little hot spots on each other's bodies.
Better would be, well, unfathomable.
But highly anticipated.
My hand moved to my chest, feeling a lightness there that I hadn't experienced in a long time. At least not for more than a fleeting second or two when life distracted me just well enough.
This wasn't a distraction, though. This was something new entirely, something I don't know if I had ever experienced, ever gotten in life.
Someone who truly saw me.
Someone who believed in me.
Someone who wanted me even after seeing the ghosts and skeletons, and, well, the occasional mental breakdowns.
Someone who could fuck me like I wasn't sure I ever had been before, to complete body and soul satisfaction.
That was something worth feeling light and happy about.
God, happy.
It sounded so foreign, but there was no denying that it was accurate.