Page 66 of Old-Fashioned

Needing more.

He didn’t hesitate to give me what I asked for.

Not when he pulled out and then thrust inside so hard it made my breast bounce.

“Again.” I moaned.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Not once stopping.

Thrust after thrust.

The sounds of our lovemaking filled the bedroom.

Our eyes never once leaving the other.

And then I felt it.

But it was stronger.

Oh, so much stronger.

He pulled out, and then slammed back in, hitting that spot, then he did it again, and my body was soaring off like a fucking rocket.

Straight out of this world and into its own orbit.

A few thrusts later, Abel stilled inside of me.

Looking down at me, he lowered his head, and kissed me softly.

While he was kissing me, he slowly pulled out of me, and I felt tears hit my eyes, which he peppered kisses all over my face.

“Sorry,” He whispered.

I shook my head, “It was so worth it. I love you, Abel Black.”

“I love you too, Birdie Vergano.”

With another kiss on my lips, he said, “I know you're sore Baby girl. Let me get a washcloth, clean you up, and then we can get some sleep.”

Once we both cleaned up, and yes, I didn’t complain about letting him take care of me, I laid in his arms, and asked stupidly, “Was that good?”

His body shook, and his chuckle hit my ears, “If it got any better, I really would be questioning whether I was having a dream or not.”

I laughed softly at him, and then yawned.

He pulled me in close, pressed a kiss atop my hair, and whispered, “Go to sleep, Birdie.”

I snuggled into his side and whispered, “Night, honey.”

“Night, Baby girl.”

What I didn’t know was that for the first time in Abel’s life, he sent out a prayer to the universe begging for nothing to ever take me away from him.

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