He swore softly beneath his breath and removed the condom from between his lips with his free hand. He was forced to let go of his rigid length, which arched up to visibly throb against his abdomen, the tip slick with moisture.
He fumbled a bit before finally smoothing the latex down his shaft, and he eagerly climbed between her thighs again. He claimed her mouth in a hot, demanding kiss and reached down to move her hand out of the way before he took over the task.
“Please,” she begged, her orgasm building with each flick of his finger. “Please, Harris.”
“Okay. It’s okay,” he soothed, easing two of his fingers into her narrow channel, testing her readiness, but she was more than ready to move on to something bigger and harder.
“More,” she urged, pushing greedily against his hand, lost in sensation, loving the weight of him on top of her, the hardness of him between her thighs. Her hands moved to his tight buttocks, and her fingers dug into his tautness as she tried to pull him toward her.
His fingers left her, and she looked down between their bodies, watching keenly as he wrapped his hand around his straining erection and fed it into her waiting body.
“Oh!” she moaned, lifting her pelvis to ease his entry, while her knees shifted to his hips.
He was gentle. Much gentler than she wanted, needed, or expected. He eased into her, filling her to the brim, hijacking her senses, claiming every inch of her body and mind with that one long, slow stroke.
“Tina.” Her name was a reverential prayer on his lips, filled with longing and tenderness. He remained still inside of her for an endless moment, his breath snagged in his throat, while hers caught and released in desperate, ragged pants.
“Harris, more!” Always more. He moved, withdrawing in that same gentle motion, before filling her again. His gentle thrusting was unbearable, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it. She didn’t want this tenderness. She wanted . . . “More!”
She was so goddamned perfect. Her beautiful, strained face, flushed and dewy with arousal. Her lips were swollen from their kisses, her nipples puckered and demanding attention. Every inch of her was soft and needed to be stroked and caressed and loved.
But she wanted to be fucked. Harrison was an expert at fucking—he’d fucked many beautiful women in his time.
But fucking entailed sex without emotion, and that wasn’t what he wanted to do now. Harris, who could not contain his affection for this woman, or his joy at being with her, did not feel capable of leaving emotion out of the act. Not when every touch, every kiss, every stroke of his hands and his cock paid homage to the reverence he felt when he looked at her.
When she once again begged for more, he gave her more. With his mouth, with his tongue, and then with his hands on her breasts. She gasped, and he caught the sound in his mouth, savoring it. He moved his hands down to her thighs and farther down to hook beneath her knees and lift her higher, allowing for deeper penetration.
His groan matched hers when she clenched around him. And his thrusts shortened with the changing angle. He didn’t know how much longer he could last and reached down to stroke her straining clit with his thumb.
She shuddered and cried out. Her orgasm sneaking up on both of them. The strength of her internal convulsions made him lose rhythm, and he finally gave her the more she’d been begging for. He slammed into her as his own climax hit him like a freight train.
His breath caught while he fought desperately to regain his control, wanting it to last longer, but when she clenched around him again, he was lost, and he groaned as he emptied himself into her tight heat.
“Oh God.” The words sounded like a prayer of thanks. Possibly were a prayer of thanks. Harris wasn’t a religious man, but this felt like heaven to him.
His bones melted, and after a few more lazy thrusts, he reluctantly left her welcoming warmth. He hurriedly dispensed of the condom, knotting it and placing it carefully aside, to be chucked out later. He slid his pendant to the side, so that it wasn’t in the way, before dragging her into his arms and holding her close. He loved how comfortable she felt in his hold and wanted to keep her there forever.
Her head was on his chest, and her fingers idly traced whorls around his nipples. He contained his moan and stroked one of his own hands up and down the length of her back, the other toying with her hair, which was spread all around them like a cloak of flames. She was curved voluptuously against him, one knee bent with her leg draped over his thigh. Her pale, creamy skin and bright-red hair bringing the timeless beauty of a Rubenesque painting to mind.