“Take me to my bedroom,” I say, the words coming out husky and thick.
With that, he lifts me into his arms, and I love how small and vulnerable I feel as he carries me without any effort. I’ve never liked feeling vulnerable until now, and it’s as though my body instinctively knows that this powerful man would only take care of me, protect me. Maybe it’s those muscles or that military attitude or simply the way he interacts with the people around him, but I’m cursing myself that I let all these weeks pass between us without enjoying this feeling that I have now.
I won’t waste another day.
Cool sheets against my back cast a chill over my body, and my hands reach for him to warm me with his touch. I feel like a kid in a candy store now that I finally get to touch him like this, to trace my fingers along the glorious hills and valleys of his muscles.
I knead one pec greedily, loving that I can feel the thumping of his heart beneath his skin. Its pace seems to echo my own, racing with desire.
This is insanity. The early morning sun peeks through my blinds as though to remind me of the reality that awaits me outside of this bedroom. Doing this is exactly what I shouldn’t do. If I’m unable to control myself this much around Dax, how will I be able to stave off the attachment that I’ll feel to him? How will I cut ties with him at the end of the summer?
And just when I’m starting to doubt my resolve, he takes a nipple in his mouth.
Oh… my…
He curves his back so that his cock is pressing against me as his tongue traces the outline of my nipple, before sucking on me harder. My pelvis arches upward, legs parting instinctively, a silent request.
But just in case he’s not picking up on the message, I reach downward and he lifts his body slightly, letting my hand slide into his shorts and grip him.
He’s huge and thick and hard.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asks. “Because if you grip me like that much longer, there won’t be any stopping me.”
I let go of him and take his hand, boldly guiding it to my shorts and easing the material of them away so that his fingers can feel the moisture that awaits him.
“I take it that’s a yes?” he asks, then sliding two fingers into my channel.
“Yes!” I gasp it as I feel the length of them mimic what I desperately want from his cock. I feel swollen inside, tight around what he offers me and hot beyond measure. Deeper he enters me, his thumb rubbing circles around the center of my need. I want to wait—to hold off the climax until he’s slid into me. But I can’t. I gasp as I give into the wave of it, thrusting against the palm of his hand.
His deep, low voice murmurs heated words to me, urging me onward, letting the orgasm clench me in its firm grasp. The fire in me burns so hot I’d swear I’m glowing, until my eyes slam shut.
My breath jagged, my soul seeming to launch itself on the wave of desire, I give into the passion until finally, I shudder one last time, melting into the sheets.
My eyes flutter open, and he lowers his body to mine again, kissing me thoroughly.
“You’re grinning too much for a man who didn’t get anything out of that,” I manage to say, still breathless, when his lips move from mine to my neck.
“Oh, I got plenty out of it,” he murmurs against me as I feel him tug my shorts off. “And I’m hoping to get more, if you haven’t changed your mind.”
Just with the sound of his voice, I feel my briefly satiated desire build again. “Should I show you again?” I pull at his shorts, and I feel the bare skin of his cock against me.
“Condom,” he suddenly whispers, a voice of reason that I seem to be without at the moment. “Do you have one in your room?”
Oh no. “No,” I answer. “Please tell me you have one.” Don’t all blazingly hot men have condoms at their disposal at all times?
“I think so. Upstairs.” Then he presses his lips against mine, and I feel the chill of air against my skin where he once covered me. He departs my bed and disappears down my hall.
No, no, no!
This is the moment when reason should slap me in my face.
This is when I should take a deep breath and realize how stupid this is, how if he can make me feel like that just with his fingers, then sex with him will be too much for me to not want more.
More tomorrow. More next week and next month. More next season after he’s packed up his air mattress and left.
More when he’s away, deployed somewhere and I’m desperate with worry that the phone will ring and I’ll hear the same news about him that I once heard about my brother.
This is setting myself up for worse than heartbreak.