She mumbles madly into my mouth, trying to keep the swirl of her tongue consistent and smooth. She’s failing miserably, her kiss frantic, her tongue stabbing clumsily. My hips are now working like pistons, thrusting back and forth firmly, feeling the pulsing, soft flesh of her pussy gripping me. I break our kiss and pull back, wanting to watch her when she goes. She’s vibrating. Shaking terribly, her eyes full to the brim with so many emotions, I wouldn’t know where to start in trying to figure them out. All I know is I want to. I want to know this woman inside out. I want to know what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. Not just now . . .
Whoa.
I nearly choke with the direction of my thoughts. Holy shit, I need this orgasm more than I realized.
And like my body has sensed my mind is spiraling, it grants me release and tips me over the edge that I’ve danced on for weeks, and to the place that only this woman could get me to. My cock lunges within her, and Lainey goes stiff beneath me, tensing everywhere, her eyes misting. I swear, and not surprisingly since it’s been so long, I’ve never had such an intense orgasm in my life. I gasp and begin to shake along with Lainey, feeling her drawing me into her, milking my cock of everything I have and more. It just comes and comes and comes, and the whole time I’m staring down into eyes that could seize me and drown me in their depths.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, slowly unhooking her fingernails from my biceps and flexing some life back into her hands. She looks away, a little frown on her face. I take her actions as a firm sign that she’s as mind-blown as I am. But I’m immediately mourning the loss of her eyes. So I dip and nudge into her cheek with my nose, keeping my softening cock where it is. The constant pulsing of her walls around my length feels too good to give up.
She obeys my silent demand and turns her face into me, and I catch her lips perfectly as she does. I kiss her slowly. So gently. “Oh my God,” I whisper back, making sure she knows that I’m in the exact same place. Which is where? Heaven on earth? It feels like it. I feel like the weight of a thousand men has been lifted from my shoulders. I’m sated, but not my normal replete self after fucking a woman. I don’t want to roll off her and go to sleep, hoping she’ll be gone in the morning to save me going over the same old rigmarole of diplomatically making it clear that I’m not up for anything more than sex. I don’t want to brush her off if she decides she wants to have some pillow talk like women do. I think I’d happily listen to Lainey talk forever. And, most strangely, I’m actually curious and interested in what she has to say.
Pulling back from her mouth, a task that’s much harder than you’ll ever know, I gaze at her, comfortably spread all over her. I smile a small smile after a few easy moments of silence, and she bites her lip, like she’s nervous. “Are you okay?”
She nods but doesn’t speak, sliding her hands down my arms until they fall to the bed. I look at where her touch just was, hating the loss of it.
“You sure?” I ask, feeling like she’s distancing herself. I look back up at her, and she nods again, wriggling a little beneath me. She wants me to get off. I frown as I reluctantly rise, pulling free from her. Lainey clenches her eyes closed and shuts her legs the second I’m off her. “Lainey . . .”
She gets up and scoops her dress from the floor. “I should go now.”
What?
I watch her fumbling with her dress, trying to get it the right way out. “You don’t have to,” I tell her quietly, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting on the side. She looks like she’s in a hurry.
Lainey ignores me and fights her way into her dress before snatching her knickers up. I’m speechless. And unreasonably hurt. A woman has never made a dash for it after I’ve blown her mind. Never. But Lainey looks like she can’t wait to escape me. What gives? This isn’t my ego talking. I couldn’t give a fuck about that. This is my ever-increasing fascination with this woman talking. Does she always leave a man’s place straight after? I don’t know, but I want her to stay.
I stand and approach her cautiously, seeing her face is a picture of . . . oh shit. That’s regret right there, and while I know I should probably be feeling it too, I’m not. It’s beyond me, but I’m not. I don’t regret a thing, and I’m not inclined to try and find the conscience that’s abandoned me. All I want to do now is try and make her feel better. Comforting a woman isn’t me. Not at all, and I’m not sure if I’ll be any good at it, but I’ll try. She’s looking more freaked by the second.