In London, I grip the twisted sheets and arch my hips. Wishing he were here, touching me. He is, I pretend.
“I’ve got you,” Garrison breathed that night, lips to my ear.
I rolled down the blissful sensation. Eyes heavy lidded, I kissed the closest thing I could find—his forearm. A very pretty forearm.
When our eyes met, his overwhelming desire avalanched mine, covering me in so much need that I nearly quivered beneath him.
“You can do it now,” I said softly.
He rubbed my thigh and searched my gaze. “You sure you’re ready? I can get you off again—”
“I’m sure,” I said, confident about this decision. My hands drifted to the ridges of his abs. “I want to feel you inside me.”
Arousal pinned against his heady eyes. “Fuck.”
We were both smiling. Excitement swelled around us like a ruthless, restless ocean, and we were both happy to let the riptide pull us under.
He rose off the bed and I watched as he made the trek to my dresser—where he knew I kept the emergency condoms. Just in case.
He was buck-naked like me. He was twenty like me. But tattoos inked his toned body and he moved with such ease and confidence. No longer looking like the jock that I pegged him as when I first met him. He was a bad boy. Misunderstood. Mine.
I pulsed just watching him, and I relaxed into my pillow. In quick movements, he had the foil packet and returned to me.
As soon as he was back on the bed, Garrison drank me in again, like I was the most beautiful creature to ever grace the universe.
“Willow.” He said my name in a way that caused every inch of me to shudder. Like dipping a toe in a cold pool.
I glanced down at his length, his knees on the mattress as he ripped open the condom with his teeth. His dick was larger than anything that had ever been inside of me.
I leaned up, and he cupped my cheek and kissed me. I held his arms for comfort, wanting him close. He broke apart my legs with his knees. My heart beat rapidly.
I thought it might hurt a lot, and that was what I feared the most. Being scared and then making an awkward mess of things. But Garrison knew that already.
I’d told him before.
He whispered against my lips, “If it hurts too much, you tell me and I’ll stop, okay? I’m fine with that.”
His words were like magic. Vanquishing my nerves.
I nodded, and I rested my shoulders back to the mattress. My legs around him. Vulnerable and ready, so ready.
For the first time, I watched him sheath himself in front of me. More confidence radiating off every inch of him. It was contagious, fueling timid parts of me.
He climbed further over my body, his hand beside my cheek. He lowered his head, his lips fusing with my lips. His tongue tangling with mine, his breath melding with mine, his heart beating with mine.
I was swept up into hot sensations. Into the fiery moment, and his hand slid along my hips and then pressure welled between my legs.
A sharp pain came and went, replaced by an overwhelming fullness that dizzied and electrified. Sparking more need. More desire. More want.
“God, Willow,” Garrison groaned like this is a very good place to be. I trembled underneath him, desiring more friction. His eyes soaked into mine. Concern wrapped in extreme craving. He was already moving his hips.
He was already rocking against me and watching him pump inside me—oh my God. I gasped, and he held my hand in his, lacing our fingers on the pillow. “This good?” he breathed.
I nodded, words lost in my throat. So good.
With that confirmation, he started thrusting harder. Working me up, sweat glistened on our skin, and a high-pitched noise escaped my lips, something else tickling my throat. “Ahh.” I clutched onto his bicep, the one with the inked skull. I was riding a surge of pleasure, the end not even in sight. “Garrison…please don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, placing another kiss on my lips. He drove deeper in me and welled up sentiments pricked my eyes.
He let go of my hand and clutched my cheek. His pace and the fullness absolutely annihilating me. In the best way. Obviously worthy of a mental revisit.
I was lost beneath him.
He was lost above me.
We found each other between every staggered breath. Every racing heartbeat. Every aching need. Until we were both sweaty and overcome by an intense, passionate crash. Nerves firing. Breaths heaving. Bodies colliding with blissful pleasure after all those years of waiting.
In my dorm room, I ride the same wave. I reach a peak.
I cry out his name in a soft, aching whisper. He lights me on fire—even when he’s miles away. But there’s a difference.
I come down, and I roll on my side. No one else tangled in the sheets with me.