Page 76 of Crushed By Love

He freezes, holding himself completely still, his muscles flexed. “You’re so perfect,” he says, staring down at me like I’m the goddess he called me earlier. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? Fuck, I’ve never lost control this fast before.”

So there’s the truth of it. He says he’s in control, but he’s not. At least not now that he’s inside me. I’m in control now.

I smile, enjoying his words but enjoying his body even more. I can feel his pelvic bone pressing into mine and it’s almost as intimate as the sex itself. I take pleasure in the way our bodies are covered in sweat and pressing together, his sun-kissed tan contrasting with my creamy paleness. Everything about this moment is more than I ever dreamed it could be. The pain is gone. It’s been replaced with needy desire, with him and us and every tiny delicious movement we make. Each thrust elicits another breathy moan. Each kiss another gasp.

“You doing okay, baby? Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

Smirking, he hitches my leg over his shoulder and pushes in even deeper. “How about this?”

“It feels so good,” I gasp and we’re groaning together, moving together, pumping into each other with so much recklessness that even though it’s cliche, I can truly no longer tell where he ends and I begin. Our connection has become bone deep.

And then he’s moving faster, harder, slamming into me, the sounds of our pleasure sinfully erotic. I can’t hold it in, I’m crying for him to keep going, repeating his name over like a mantra. The most exquisite release is building up within me, threatening to crumble all my defenses, to transform me into a new woman.

His mouth opens to mine, our tongues lazy as our bodies grow more frantic. And then it becomes too much. And it becomes everything. The pleasure spreads over my entire body, radiating from my core. The orgasm takes me away. And he’s still rocking into me through the entire process, greedy for more.

And then he goes still and his face takes on a new form. Open. Disbelieving. And completely satisfied. Forget kissing. This is Ethan at his most vulnerable. His eyes flare and his mouth pops open.

He’s beautiful.

And all too quickly the rush is over, but the pleasure lingers over us like our tender kisses. I don’t want to lose him, and when he pulls away, I feel empty inside in more ways than one. But my heart doesn’t, my heart feels full.

He says he doesn’t make love, that he just has sex, and that may be true for him, but I realize something in that moment—it’s not true for me. Because what I just did? That was all heart. That was making love. That was more than just bodies coming together for sex. It was souls exchanging energy, one binding itself to the other. I’m his now. I’m his and I can’t even pretend otherwise.

He’s right. We spend the next twenty-four hours repeating what we did. Again in the bed, on the deck, against the wall, the floor, and twice in the shower. I can’t get enough of him, and I don’t even care that I’m stretched sore and can barely walk. This is the best sex of my life.

It’s also the only sex I’ve had, but I can’t imagine how anything could possibly top it.

Yup, I’m most definitely ruined for any other man.

I keep expecting things to get weird between us, waiting for awkward silences or for Ethan to walk away again or say something that taints this bliss bubble, but it never happens. We grow comfortable together when we’re not having sex, and even more hot together when we do, getting to know each other’s bodies in new ways with each experience.

But our time here is running out. Our bubble is going to pop and we both know it, even if neither of us is willing to acknowledge it. Real life is coming and we can’t keep this going. I’m moving to Boston, starting my adult life and focusing on my education, and he’s going back to Manhattan to pick up where he left off. Our worlds will once again have nothing to do with each other.

But I want more, fantasizing about what it would be like to actually date him, to be his girlfriend, to fall in love . . .

It’s foolish thinking.

Naive musings.

Most girls probably feel this way about their first sexual partner. It’s normal.

So I don’t dare ask him about what comes after we leave Nantucket, nor do I give it much thought. I already know I’m going to end up hurt. My heart is already on the line. It will be better to pretend I don’t care about him emotionally, to just enjoy the sex while I can and move on with my life when I have to.

“I want to try something,” I say, crawling down the bed and hooking my fingers in his boxers. I can’t believe what I’m about to ask and I can already feel the embarrassment washing through me.

His eyes flash to mine. “And what is that?”

I chew my lip while rubbing at his newly exposed skin. My cheeks are already burning at the question I’m about to ask. “Can I give you a blow job?”

I’ve never done it before, and definitely never thought I’d want to, but right now it’s the only thing on my mind. He’s gone down on me on more than one occasion. Now it’s my turn to reciprocate.

“Did you just ask me if you can give me a blow job?” He laughs, sitting up on his elbows, abs flexing in the most perfect way. “What kind of a question is that?”

My cheeks redden and I lean back, dropping my hands. “Umm, I don’t know, I just wanted to try it, but I wanted your consent first.”

His eyebrow raises and he laughs again. “Let it be known, you will always have my consent to suck me off.”

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