And the glass is suddenly a mirror, reflecting back to me something I should have told her weeks ago.
“I love you, Neevah Saint.” I chuckle, emotion crowding my throat. “Or Mathis—whatever your damn name is. I love you.”
She’s wet, naked, with rashes and all the things she’s afraid I’ll reject her for on full display, but I’m the one holding my breath. Exposed. Waiting, my future in her hands. And while I wait, watch, a single tear skates over the rash covering her cheek.
“I love you back.”
Her words, spoken softly in a wobbling voice, with a steady stare, land like a boulder. They crush my control and steal my breath. The fact that I love her is a secret I’ve been keeping from her for weeks.
I want you to find someone you love more than your art.
Mama said the magic hour was waiting on a miracle you knew would come. I’ve waited all my life to want someone, to love someone the way I do Neevah, but I didn’t actually believe it would happen.
She sits up, widening her legs so I’m standing between them, and tips her head back to meet my eyes through a spray of long lashes. When she reaches for my belt, her throat—smooth and burnished and brown—moves as she swallows and licks her lips. Every part of my body clenches when she undoes my jeans. Her cool fingers dust the muscles of my stomach as she urges the shirt up. I yank it by the collar over my head, my chest heaving as I wait for what she wants next. She pushes my pants down and then my briefs. Predictably, my cock is at full stand, begging for her attention. She obliges, leaning forward, letting her breath mist the wet tip before sneaking her tongue out for one torturous swipe.
Fuck.
My teeth grit around a collection of expletives. Her grin is all salacious mischief. She opens her mouth, sliding over me while her eyes penetrate mine. My breath hiccups at the brush of her tongue, the sweet grip of her mouth around me. She cups my balls, and the muscles in my legs go rigid. Instinctively, I cup her head and push her farther down on my cock.
Her head. Her hair.
I open my eyes, concerned that I’ve ruined this for us before it’s gotten started, but she’s not bothered, her eyes closed, full lips wrapped around me, head bobbing as she sucks me off.
“Shit,” I hiss, gripping her neck, feeding more of it down her throat. She clutches my thigh with one hand, caresses my balls with the other, and my whole body is a nerve she sets on fire with her lips and tongue and the barest scrape of her teeth—with the wonder of her hands. And I’m coming like a motherfucker, spilling down her throat and roaring like something set free. She moans around me, the hum of it extending my pleasure into impossibility—into the range of almost unbearable. I grip her shoulders, my head flung back, as she takes all of me, her nails digging in my ass possessively, her mouth moving over my cock like she owns it.
Damn, she does.
Even when I’m spent, she persists, licking at every drop like a thirsty cat. I’m her saucer, her milk, her treat. I don’t give a fuck. The room goes hazy around me, and only she is in focus. Her beautiful face, berry nipples, and the splay of her long legs, shamelessly showing me how wet she is, how ready.
“Lay back,” I mutter, still seeing stars, my head spinning.
She complies, licking at the traces of me on her lips. After lifting her leg, bending her knee and resting her heel on the edge of the bed, I run my palm up and down the inside of her thigh, with each pass moving closer to where she wants to be touched most. To where I want to touch her.
“Canon, just . . .” She watches me with passion-glazed eyes.
“Just what?” I maintain the simple, steady strokes, kneading the firm muscle of her thigh, working my fingers down to the private space just shy of her pussy. She moans, widening her legs as if to tempt me, to force my hand.
“You know,” she whispers.
I do.
Skimming my hand over the taut muscles of her stomach and the valley between her breasts, I pluck her nipple in time with the taunting touch along her thigh. In slow inches, I slide two fingers inside, searching for that elusive spot that sends her to bliss. When I find it, she gasps, her neck arched, nails clawing the sheets. A frantic pulse batters beneath the vellum skin at the base of her throat. Lifting her foot, I kiss the delicate arch, run my nose over the fragile bone of her ankle, and lead a procession of kisses down the curve of her calf, behind the delicate bend of her knee. I grip the backs of her thighs and drag her to the edge of the bed, sinking to the floor, my mouth watering at the rising scent of her. Spreading her, I close my mouth around her clit, sucking, eating her like sun-ripened fruit. A peach, the flesh slick and sweet and wet, juices dripping down my chin. I’m a pauper at a feast, so lost in pleasure, I almost forget it’s hers, too, until her sobs and whimpers float over my head.
I draw deep breaths, struggling to subdue my most primitive instincts. I know Dr. Okafor gave the greenlight for us to do this, but she probably doesn’t expect me to fuck like a wild boar after only two weeks of celibacy. If I were to hurt Neevah . . . I can’t even contemplate that transgression. I’d never forgive myself.
I stand and crawl onto the bed, gently turning her to her side. Leaving her left leg on the bed, I straddle it and bring her other leg up to my chest, resting it on my shoulder. She watches me, her eyes curious, excited.
“We’ve never done it this way,” she says.
“Is it okay? Are you sure us doing this is okay?”
“I won’t break, Canon.” She frowns. “It feels like I’m losing everything. Don’t take this from me, too.”
I will make this good for her, for us both, but this position leaves her completely receiving and exerting no effort except to come. I enter in one quick thrust, and we both gasp at the fit—a large fist in a tight glove. I take up a rhythm, slowly building, delving deeper. She’s spread for me, one leg on the bed, the other on my shoulder. With one fingertip, I caress her clit, never letting up the pumping pace.
“Jesus,” she gasps, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling like a stargazer. Our bodies move in sensual unison—a hypnotic rhythm that we can’t break, but that only builds. With one small hand, she cups her breast and thumbs the nipple until it peaks. I wrestle with the beast inside who laughs at my restraint, a pitiful thing weakening every second I’m inside her. I grip her leg to me, turning my head to kiss her calf, biting into the sleek muscle. She tilts her head back, her eyes shutting tightly, the orgasm shuddering through her. Ecstasy seizes my muscles, rolling through my legs and the taut muscles of my shoulders. I drop my head back, my voice exploding in the room like full-throated thunder. She skitters her hand over the sheet until she finds mine, joining our fingers and meeting my gaze in the dying storm.
“Tell me again,” she whispers.
I don’t have to ask what she means. She wants the same words I want to hear.
“I love you.”
A contented smile lights her eyes, christens her lips. “And I love you back.”