Page 114 of Take Her from You

Drowsiness made every move all the more delicious. I followed the path of his arm and slid my hand over his, findinghis hard dick nestled between my thighs. I stroked him as he played with me.

“Put me inside ye,” he said in my ear, his voice thick with sleep.

I guided his dick to my slick entrance, and Valentine thrust home. He filled me so perfectly. We gave twin sounds of relief, but his hips remained still, and a kiss landed on the side of my face, the press somehow intense.

He took my fingers to my clit. “Play here but go slow.”

Boosting us higher on the bed, Valentine arranged me so my head rested against his shoulder and I was comfortably reclined on him, my legs over his so my body was exposed. His hands travelled up to my breasts.

He cupped both, taking the weight. Inside me, his dick pulsed. “How do ye walk around all day without constantly wanting to stop and play with these?”

I smiled into the midnight-black room. “It’s a challenge.”

“I bet. The size alone would distract me.”

“How about having a big, swinging dick? Doesn’t that do the same?”

“Eh. It does half my thinking for me. I go where it leads.”

“Which was right to my tits.”

Valentine choked out a surprised laugh. He nudged the side of my face with his, asking for a kiss. I twisted to meet his lips, leaving my body alone to hold his head, allowing a better fit. A deeper connection and a fusing of our mouths.

If only we could get a picture of this. The covers had been kicked away, leaving us both bared to the silent dark. His big body framed mine. His dick lodged inside me, my legs spread over his, leaving nothing concealed. Everything wet and swollen from use. His hands on my breasts and his mouth on mine.

This was lovemaking. Nothing fast or furious about it—we’d already done that multiple times, just a perfect fit andunstoppable need to make the other feel good. To claim and connect and own.

His touch started up again, those big hands massaging and teasing my breasts until my skin burned with pleasure. At a murmured order from him, I returned to play with my clit, lightly drawing a finger over it, every pass giving me a burst of fresh desire.

Our kiss didn’t stop. It continued with our rhythm, slow, winding, and perfectly timed.

Valentine tugged on my nipples, elongating them. I echoed the action with my clit. Still deep inside me, his dick pulsed. I throbbed in time, the reminder that he was in me but not moving spurring me on.

Rolling my hips, I started to fuck him. But he broke the kiss.

“No. I want to come from just feeling ye. Is that okay?”

God, why did every little thing he said make me emotional? I’d already been in pieces from hearing his heartbreak at that wedding. Though he’d been light on details, I felt every piece of his shock. Of how his safe world had been dismantled by dishonesty and misuse. No wonder he didn’t want to risk another relationship. He’d been burned so badly. Yet here he was with me in every way but a label.

I stopped and returned to the kiss and my light playing with my clit. Valentine kept up his steady action, working my breasts until my breathing came hard and heat flashed over me.

Every breath he took mapped to mine. Every tiny shift in our bodies was both of us in perfect unity. Need grew and grew in intensity. A dark wave of pressure and delight.

A precipice fast approached. I tore my mouth from his, dropping my head back to gasp. Around him, I pulsed, then another beat and I was coming. I moaned, throbbing hard around his dick, the sensation washing all over my form and all the heavier for the barely there movements.

Silently, Valentine hugged both arms tight around me, his head down and pressed to mine. He took a shuddering breath, his dick thickened, and the sensation pulled a choked cry from me. Then he groaned, coming inside me, my climax triggering his.

It took a long moment before my brain engaged again and I drifted back to earth. Tuned in to the man at my back, I reached to stroke his face, not risking any words of deep emotion he wouldn’t want to hear. Valentine kissed my hair, then took his hand back down me to the place we were still joined. He stroked my thighs, my clit. Felt over where he impaled me still. Then holding his dick in me, he finally slumped down. Like he needed to remain in place all night long.

I drifted to sleep happier than I’d ever been in my life.

The following morning, I woke to an empty bed. Momentary panic struck me that he’d got overwhelmed. I’d understand. I’d panicked over it, too. But a minute later, his clattering around in the kitchen let me breathe easier.

I snuck to the bathroom and cleaned myself up, hardly recognising the woman in the mirror with her hair tousled and cheeks pink. Naked, I stood for a second and just let myself stare—something I never did, usually remembering harsh words about my size. Now, I didn’t care. It didn’t hurt me. I liked me just fine.

When Valentine returned to the bedroom, I was back in bed, his black t-shirt covering me for the sake of us being able to eat and not instantly screwing again. My eyes rounded for the tray he carried.

“Coffee and toast. Just a quick refuel so we don’t have to get up yet.” He offered it out then climbed in beside me. “Woman, ye look well fucked.”

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