She contracts around my fingers again. Fuuck.
I tense with desire. “You want me inside you?”
Willow nods strongly, cheeks flushed. “Right now.”
It takes a lot of energy to remove my hand and not get her off again. But I want my length inside her, too. I want everything with my girlfriend.
I reach for the nightstand drawer. For a condom, and she cranes her neck, feeling my movements.
“You don’t need to…” she tells me.
She isn’t wearing glasses, so she can’t see much. “I’m getting a condom,” I explain.
“We don’t need one.” Her voice is so soft that I dip my head closer to hear her next words. “I’m on birth control.”
I frown. Okay, she wasn’t on birth control when she boarded a plane to London. I’m trying not to think dumbass things. Like why she’d take birth control once we were split apart.
Lots of girls take birth control for more reasons than just to prevent pregnancy. Like acne and stuff, right? Maybe to help with cramps, I don’t know.
Willow can’t see my complete confusion. But maybe she can feel my body tense, because she rushes to clarify, “I asked Daisy if it was a good idea since you and I had sex before we left and it would probably happen again, and she said, totally. So I thought…I thought it’d be good to prepare for next time.”
I’m an idiot.
I let out a breath. Easing a lot more. “That makes sense.” I come back fully to Willow. “It is good.” My hand encases her cheek. “No condom then?”
She nods.
I place another kiss against her lips and spread her legs wider around my waist. My pelvis aligned with hers.
She pants some and clutches my biceps.
I have her in my grasp. “Tell me if it hurts,” I say, my voice low.
This is only the second time she’s had sex.
The second time a man has been inside her.
Me.
“I will,” she murmurs, instinctively touching her nose. To push up glasses that aren’t there.
I peel a sweaty piece of hair off her forehead, tucking the strand behind her ear. And then I grip my shaft, and slowly, I press the head near her entry. Watching her reaction.
She clasps my arms tighter.
I slide inside Willow—fucking…she’s so tight and wet, the pressure and warmth sending a rush through me. Head spinning. Nerves firing.
Willow shudders a little, but she hangs onto me. I hold her hip and sink deeper and deeper.
She lets out a strangled moan, head tilting back. “God,” she cries softly.
I fill her completely, and I rock between her legs, slowly at first. Long movements, until the friction flames, and my body blisters for more. Ravenous, hungry—ready to eke out every ounce of pleasure from her and drive it into me. Months apart. Months without a single touch.
I thrust deeper, my ass flexing. Gasps escape her parted lips that can’t close, struggling for breath, and my muscles contract—fuck.
Fuck.
I fuck Willow. Veins igniting, muscles on fire. My hands on her hips, I sit up some on my knees and pound into her—and her palms fall off my shoulders and find my wrists, clutching me for support.
“Garrison,” she cries in a sharp moan, her eyelids fluttering.
I lower back, our mouths meeting. I kiss her as deeply as I rock in, and she pulls at my hair. I lift her leg higher on my waist.
Every thrust is filled with an emotional current that ravishes both of us. Like we’ve both been asleep and we’re slowly recharging, coming back to life.
My forehead presses to hers. “I love you.” I breathe it out a few more times. Rocking, rocking, and her love swims inside her eyes.
I lose time. I lose sense of space. It’s just her and me. The world around us is gone until we both ride into pure bliss.
“Ahhh,” she cries into my shoulder, and I hold her while her toes curl, her back arches. A groan barrels through me, and I milk out a climax that seizes my tendons in a vice.
We kiss and kiss, my lips stinging against hers—it’s going to take heaven and Earth to pull me away from Willow.
I just want this to last. Longer.
Much longer.
How much time is left?
Sitting side-by-side in bed, naked, wrapped up in the sheets, and eating semi-warm pizza, I stroke her head while she picks off the mushrooms and puts them on my plate.
“I could have made the cheese,” I tell her.
“Supreme is better.” She licks her finger. “I like the olives.”
This, right here, feels normal. Pizza in bed, like the degenerate I am. Can’t even eat at a table. Being together at night should be happening all the time, not just once every four months.
Okay, so maybe it’s not normal, I guess.
This, right here, is rare. I hate that.
“How do you think we’re doing?” She hands me the plate with the mushrooms. “With this whole long distance thing?”