As pleasure unleashes inside me, I scream. I mean, I freaking shriek at full volume in response to the tidal wave of pleasure, bliss, nirvana slamming into me.
As I come down from my very loud orgasm, Fish lifts his head, looking drunk. Tousled. And visibly proud of himself.
He says, “That scream was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
I feel ravenous to be penetrated. Greedy. Hungry. Desperate. “Make love to me, Matthew,” I say in a breathy voice. “I want you inside me. I want you deep inside me.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
Practically hyperventilating, he gets himself covered and crawls over my writhing frame. He pushes his tip against my wet entrance, and pauses briefly, causing every atom of my body to seize with yearning and need. I grab his bare ass, egging him on, and he pushes inside me, slowly.
He’s panting. “Good?”
“Good,” I whisper. “Don’t hold back.”
He rests his forearms on either side of my head and begins thrusting, this time, with a lot more enthusiasm than last night, and I grip his ass and move my pelvis back and forth to maximize his movements.
As our synchronized bodies gain momentum, he pulls my hands above my head and kisses me deeply, sending an electric current coursing through me. Is that Fish’s heart beating against my sternum, from the outside, or is it mine, beating from the inside? I honestly can’t tell. As cliché as it sounds, I feel in this moment like our hearts are beating as one.
Fish picks up the pace and intensity of his movements, yet again, and I let him know I’m loving it. And soon, we’re kissing and moving with abandon. Like animals. Both of us lost in each other and the pleasure.
“Still good?” he gasps out, our pleasure making us sweat and grunt and kiss with abandon.
“So good,” I choke out, digging my nails into his back.
“I wanna try another position,” Fish grits out. “I want to make you come again.”
No argument from me.
He guides me onto my hands and knees and enters me again—this time, fondling my clit as he thrusts. And, holy shit, it’s an incredible sensation. Totally different than when he moves on top of me. Quickly, my pleasure feels like it’s reaching another boiling point.
He comes first. Hard. But when I move, thinking we’re done, he tells me to stay put and begins eating me out from behind while fingering me. Quickly, the result of this new kind of stimulation is another screaming orgasm that makes me collapse onto the bed in a sweaty, panting heap.
Fish lies next to me, on his side, also breathing hard and sweating.
“Damn,” I say. “Now I understand why the entire world is obsessed with sex.”
“The entire world is obsessed with trying to have sex like that,” he replies. “Before you, I thought people were exaggerating when they said they had sex that made them ‘see God.’”
“You saw God?”
“I did. He needs to trim his beard a little bit.”
I laugh.
“Seriously, Ally, that was exponentially better than anything I’ve ever experienced. So, so, so, soooo good. It’s amazing how different it is when there’s a genuine connection.”
I smile. “It was amazing for me, too.”
He snorts. “That was best of two for you? That’s quite a compliment.”
I laugh and run my fingertip across his tattooed forearm. “Honey, I have a feeling we’re going to get really, really good at sex this week.”
Thirty
Alessandra
Fish opens the door to our new hotel room, this one in Boston, and I’m once again blasted with the glorious smell of roses. Just like in New York, Fish has arranged for dozens of roses to greet me in our hotel room . . . All of them a deep crimson, except for one symbolic and lovely bouquet of yellows.
“Matthew!” I shout, leaping into the room. “You can’t keep doing this for me!”
“Don’t tell me what to do, woman. I’ll do what I want. I’m a rock star. A rebel.”
I twirl through the room, squealing, my arms bowed above my head in fifth position, while Fish follows me into the room, chuckling at my exuberance.
We unpack and stow our suitcases and guitars, seeing as how we’re going to be staying here for a full week this time. And then, we drink champagne from crystal flutes while checking out the view from our lovely balcony.
I point out a few buildings in the skyline, since Fish has never played tourist in Boston. He’s performed here with his band, apparently. But he’s never stayed long enough to wander around and check out the usual sights.
“I’ll show you everything,” I say. “All the usual tourist stuff, and also the most important places from my life.”
“I can’t wait to see all of it. Especially the stuff from your life.”
My old life, I think. But I don’t say it out loud, simply because I don’t want to jinx it. “Hey, I was thinking, for dinner, we could go to the café where I used to work. I’d love to introduce you to my boss and a couple friends there.”