And I don’t even give a damn.
“Miss me?” He reappears, and as he walks through my door, only now do I really get a look at him. His naked form is perfection—something that should be sculpted in marble or sketched by a modern-day equivalent to Michelangelo.
Yep. Don’t give a damn.
It’s like eating a hot fudge brownie sundae with all my favorite toppings. I’m not going to count the calories as I devour it. I’m just going to enjoy myself.
He slides the condom on, and he presses a kiss to my lips, one laced with sweetness. “Are you—”
But I can’t bear for him to complete the question. Because I don’t want him to ask if I’m sure again.
Because I’m not sure.
But I haven’t been sure about a lot of things I’ve done in my life. And this one is definitely the best of the bunch.
So I stop his question with my lips, tasting him again. And as I do, I’m rewarded by the feel of him entering me. There’s a gentleness to him that takes me by surprise. After he waited patiently as I came against his hand, I expected him now to claim me hard and fast.
Yet it’s like he senses how long it’s been for me, how my body needs to adjust to his size as he stretches me out in a way I honestly haven’t felt from any other man.
The sweetness of this moment, the care he takes with my body, upends me. And I feel it—my heart giving into him in that moment when he’s fully fused with me and the gentle pressure of him against my womb makes me gasp.
“You okay, baby? I know I’m a little big.”
I can’t help giggling at the oxymoron. “A little big? There’s nothing about you that’s little. And I’m not complaining.”
He smiles and his lips touch mine again as he slides in and out of me.
My fingers trace along the glorious muscles of his back downward, pulling him into me deeper, so deep I nearly cry out.
His rhythm is slow, like ocean waves on a calm day.
Deliberate. Controlled. But when I splay my fingers against his skin, I can feel the tautness of his muscles, telling me that it’s all he can do to hold himself back.
Lifting his torso from me, he thrusts in again, this time letting me enjoy the sweet pressure of where our bodies are joined together. He rubs me just the way I need, and I feel my breath catch as my channel seems to cling to his hard cock.
“Like that?” he asks, pulling out slightly and then driving into me again.
“Oh, yes.”
Again and again, his motions rock me beneath him and my pelvis arches harder each time I feel his pressure against my clit.
I feel the wave of a climax approaching. Not like before. Not fast as I’d expect it. Slow, yet nearly overwhelming to me, like a tsunami rising up in the distance. And I want it. I want it to swallow me up completely, even if I lose myself in the process.
“You’re so beautiful like this. And you’re so wet around me. So slick.” The deep timbre of his voice as he takes in the sight of me arouses me even more.
When I feel him pulsate inside of me, I shouldn’t be surprised when his rhythm quickens. He wants completion the same way I do. And yet I already ache, knowing this will end soon.
I feel the orgasm consume me. I buck beneath him and as I do, he keeps himself deep in me as I give in to the sensation, letting me enjoy the full pressure of him as my channels seizes up around his length.
Words escape me, peppered with hot moans and indecipherable murmurs of pleasure.
But this time, the climax doesn’t let go. The hard, ascending wave of it is unabating.
“More,” I cry out, my voice thick with need, not even certain what it is exactly I’m demanding.
Do I want more of his pressure in me, so deep I could scream? Do I want more of the slide of him in and out of me, or more of the rhythm that speaks to a primal urge I can’t deny?
Or do I want something different from him—like this, as he takes my hands and pins me down to the mattress, making my breath catch?