But he grabs hold of me, his hands gripping my butt cheeks, his mouth still on me as he licks me straight into oblivion. Until I’m a moaning, shaking, climaxing bundle of need, falling right over that delicious edge.
Once the trembling has subsided, he rises to his feet, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. Why I find that move so incredibly sexy, I don’t know. But I reach for him, pulling him in so I can kiss him. I taste myself on his lips, on his tongue, and it makes me want him even more so I pull him in closer, my legs winding tight around him, my arms circling his neck.
“I don’t want to fuck you like this,” he whispers against my cheek.
“Since when do you say fuck all the time?” I ask just before I bite his perfect jawline.
He tilts his head to the side, his gaze meeting mine. “I’ve always loved the word.”
“You never used it to say you wanted to fuck me.”
“Guess I always thought it, because that’s all I could think about back then. How much I wanted to fuck you. All the time.”
I rear back so our gazes meet. Hold.
“I want to fuck you now,” I tell him, loving the flash of heat in his gaze when I use the word.
“I want to make you come again.” He touches my hair, fingers playing with the wayward strands that escaped my braid. “You’re beautiful when you come.”
“You know just how to do that.” I press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Your tongue is magical.”
He chuckles, his hands cupping my cheeks, his mouth close to mine. “You’re fucking magical. Let’s go to my bedroom.”
Before I can say anything, he’s got me in his arms, carrying me through the kitchen and up the two flights of stairs with ease. His biceps bulge, his chest flexes, and I stare at his upper body in wonder, eager to explore and lick and touch. When we reach his bedroom, he carefully places me on the giant bed, and then he’s there, hovering above me, his hands braced on either side of my head as he begins his own exploration.
Butterfly kisses to my forehead, cheeks and nose. Licks down the length of my neck, gentle bites along my collarbone. He touches my breasts, flicks my nipples with his tongue, kisses a lazy path across my stomach, dips his tongue inside my belly button. I’m giggling and breathless, his touch tickling me, driving me out of my mind. He shifts downward, kissing my inner thighs, the back of my knees, my calves, the top of my feet.
“You have a foot fetish?” I ask when I realize he’s studying my pink painted toes.
“More like an Amanda fetish,” he confesses, dropping a kiss on the tip of my big toe before he moves up, up, until his face is in mine. His entire body covers me, his warm, heavy weight making me sigh with pleasure. “You’re just like I remembered you.”
His words fill me with worry for the briefest moment. “The same ol’ thing, huh?” I say like a joke, though deep down I’m terrified he’s already bored with me.
“You’re perfection,” he whispers just before he kisses me. It’s a slow, melting kiss. Like all of that earlier frantic passion has subsided, and he’s content with taking this at a languid pace. I should be the one who feels that way since on tonight’s orgasm scoreboard we’re Amanda: one, and Jordan: zero, but now I’m the one who’s filled with overwhelming, frenzied need.
My hands are everywhere, sliding down his back, gripping his extremely hard ass. His cock probes between my legs, and I spread them, wishing he was inside me already. Wishing we were connected once again. It’s as if I need that connection like I need air, because I’m gasping for it, my chest shuddering, my fingers clawing at him.
“Sshhh,” he murmurs against my lips. “Calm down, babe.”
He called me babe. I love it when he does that. Yes, he also told me to calm down, which coming from any other man, might’ve pissed me off, but not Jordan. He knows I need to calm myself. That I’m a bundle of crazed nerves.
He rises to his knees, studying me while his hands wander across my chest, his touch fleeting. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs, and I do as he says, releasing it slowly. Steadily. Trying my best to calm my racing heart.
“I want you,” he tells me, his gaze on mine. “So fucking bad.”
“I want you too,” I admit softly.
Jordan reaches over me, pulling open the drawer on his bedside table, rustling around inside of it before he pulls out a wrapped condom. He undoes the wrapper and slips the condom on. I watch in rapt fasciation, my stomach twisting in anticipation of him finally being inside of me.
I close my eyes when he positions himself, his cock probing at my entry, his hands once again braced on either side of my head. I tilt my head back, my legs spread, waiting for him to push inside me, but nothing happens.
“Look at me,” he commands, and my eyes automatically pop open to find him staring at me.
Slowly, surely, he enters my body, one delicious inch at a time. My eyelids waver, a whimper falling from my lips, and when he’s fully seated inside of me, I exhale loudly, bringing my knees up so they press against his hips.
We lay like that, unmoving for God knows how long. A few seconds? A full minute? Five minutes? I don’t know, but it’s like we’re reveling in the reconnection. He flexes his hips, sinking a little deeper, and we both moan. We’re still watching each other, his lids at half mast, his expression lazy. Pleased. His jaw tight, revealing that he’s holding himself back.
I want him to unleash on me.