All I have to do is let go, and the mind-shattering orgasm will engulf me. And I want to come; my body is primed and ready for it. But I’m not ready to let go yet.
I tug at his hair and pull him back. He resists, but when I exert more force, he lets go with a final lick on my clit. I hiss, then shudder as the cool air brushes my wet, heated core.
“What’s wrong?” His mouth glistens with my slickness, and he gives me a small frown.
“Take off your clothes.” I want him as bare as I am. “I want it face-to-face, with you inside me.”
He slowly rises to his feet, kicks off his shoes and sheds his clothes, his movements economical and efficient. Every undone button reveals another inch of lean, functional muscle. His frame is perfect, his shoulders exceptionally broad and his waist and hips lean and narrow. The ridges on his stomach are so defined, I can see why bodybuilders call them “cheese grater abs”. Finally his cock springs free, its glistening head at twelve o’clock high. I lick my lips. The man is simply stunning. No, not just stunning but irresistible, full of magnetism and power.
A sliver of doubt slips into my mind. How can I make him see I’m not her? He doesn’t care about me. He is stronger than I am, worldlier…and certainly more jaded. What am I doing, really?
Then I remember how he cared about my pleasure. He has never once been selfish in bed or hurt me. Surely that confers some power, no matter how small.
Once he’s naked, he studies me. I know my face is flushed with need. I may be able to hold myself back from going over, but I’m not good enough to hide how much I want him.
We’re close enough that I can feel the heat pouring from him, but we aren’t touching. He cups my face and kisses me, his eyes fluttering then closing.
My hands wrap around his strong wrists, and I let the pleasure of the kiss carry me away. My body’s so primed from the two near-orgasms that I ache with the piercing need, but I don’t want to rush this and ruin it.
His breath fans my face, and I devour his mouth, deepening our connection. I vaguely feel him moving me toward the bed, and I go with it, my body languid and hot.
He kneads a breast in one large, skilled hand. His thumb brushes over the pointed peak, and I moan deep in my throat.
My world tilts as he deposits me in the middle of the huge king-size bed. He lets go of my mouth and kisses my nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive tip. My back arches, and he laughs in wicked satisfaction. He pulls the rest of it in and sucks hard, his cheeks hollowing. His hand plays with my free nipple as he settles between my spread legs, his mouth hot on my neck. His thick cock rubs against my clit, stimulating me until I’m coiled so tightly I feel like I’m going to break at any moment.
But he doesn’t increase his tempo. He keeps it just below what I need to be able to orgasm. He torments me with his hands and mouth as though he’s punishing me for withholding my climax earlier, like he wants to show I’m not the only one who can hold back. By the time he’s through, it’s all I can do to grip the sheet underneath me and not lose my sanity. Sweat slickens my heated skin, and my sex throbs until it almost hurts.
“Please,” I beg.
“Please what? What do you want me to do?”
“Put your cock inside me,” I say.
Lust blazes in his eyes. He rewards my frankness by sheathing himself with a condom, then pushing into me slowly…halfway.
It’s not enough. “All the way,” I whisper, a hand on his stubble-rough cheek. “Hard. I want to see your face when you fuck me. I want you to see my face when you come inside me.”
“Fuck, yes.”
He starts, driving in and out of me with enough force to rattle the bed. I’m so swollen and wet; he feels enormous inside but the friction is too delicious to matter. His eyes are on me, and mine are on his. The first flickers of pleasure start in my lower belly, and I can’t draw in air. He breathes like he’s running a marathon, then tilts his pelvis, changing the angle and hitting my sweet spot.
I convulse as I detonate with a white-hot orgasm. My vision turns hazy with ecstasy, but I sense Elliot surrounding me, moving within me. He thrusts with a force that jars my bones, his entire body going rigid. A groan tears from his tight throat…and then his forehead is resting on mine.
I breathe in his heady male scent, my body boneless and languid. I feel light, the heaviness from last night completely gone.
“God…” He moans when he can draw in some air. He wraps his arms around me and rolls over, dragging me with him. He presses a kiss on my mouth. “That was amazing, beautiful.”
The euphoria vanishes, and I shiver, this time with cold. Even now I’m just “beautiful” to him.
I thought maybe we’d crossed an important milestone…reached an understanding. How can he drive into me like that with his eyes on my face and still can’t make the connection that I’m not that Annabelle?
* * *
Elliot
Something’s shifted. My wife is stiff now, all the sweet lazy afterglow suddenly gone. I can’t think of what it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s something I did because she was fine until…
Is it me calling her “beautiful”?