Page 63 of Every Version of You

When his forehead presses against mine, my eyes fall shut. “You thought I was beautiful?”

His lips dust over mine before he whispers back. “You still are, Angel.”

His tender kiss is like one of our songs—a touch that elicits a memory. We’ve only been kissing a couple months, but the memories he transfers in the brush of his lips aren’t that of an act; they’re that of a love that’s been growing alongside us. It’s bonded our trust and care and mixed feelings into something that, even if we tried to break it, could never be.

Our kiss is slow and warm. Impossibly intimate. Every nerve ending I possess comes to life with each shared breath—with every graze of his lips against mine. His hand is still cupping my jaw, and I need nothing more than for him to keep it there. To keep me at his mercy. To kiss me like I’ve always dreamed he would.

As our kiss deepens and our tongues dive for the other, our breathing picks up. The weight of his body shifting causes the mattress to dip slightly as he braces his arms on either side of my head and lets his lower half fall against mine, his erection growing stiffer by the second.

This is a first—Rafael initiating that is. It’s always been me leading our games. That’s the way it was designed; I simply tell him when I’m horny and he takes care of it. Now he’s making the first move and with so many feelings wrapped up from our conversations tonight, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

It’s a fucking great idea, my hormones shout. Wait, no. That’s my heart talking, not my hormones. He said you were beautiful, my heart pumps.

“I wanted to slow dance with you,” I exhale into his hungry mouth before I can stop myself.

“Me too, Angel. I wanted to kiss you then like I’m kissing you now.”

“I wish you would have,” I whisper, and his mouth drops to my neck, sucking gently and dragging his lips lower, across my shoulders and down to the stiff peaks forming under my nightgown. He lifts it off quickly, straddling me, running his hands over my breasts and stomach, admiring.

“I wouldn’t have known what to do with you back then,” he says almost to himself. “I had no game, no experience, no idea what I was doing.”

“You didn’t need game, Raf.”

“No, I clearly did. You had no idea how bad I wanted to simply hold your hand in the hallway. I wanted to carry your backpack and all your worries.” My heart stutters and my mouth goes dry listening to him admit this. “And I was being serious before, when I said I’ve never been with someone who looks like you.” His wide muscled chest rises and falls as he pets my hip. “It was on purpose because there’s no way I could have gone through with it without thinking of your incredible body.”

“Oh yeah?” I tease “My small chest, lack of ass, and thick ankles… That gets you going?”

“Angel, you rev my engine.” He leans down for a drugging kiss and his words wash away the whispers of my former insecurities—the insecurities I banished, but still itched in the back of my psyche from time to time.

“I have lost time to make up for, sweetheart. I want to touch you like this whenever I please. I want to watch you come because of what I do to you.” He pinches one of my aching nipples, shooting a direct pulse of desire to my pussy, making me forget that I’m supposed to be the one calling the shots. “Those were the dark days, the foolish days,” he rumbles, then pushes himself down my trembling body until his mouth hovers above my mons. “Let me prove to you just how much I crave this body.”

Rafael

She smells like the shower she just had, but tastes exactly like what I’m growing fond of. “Already so wet, Angel?” I hum, pushing my nose through her slit and dragging my tongue along for the joyride.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“Can you be quiet for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” I whisper back, licking at her entrance in slow measured strokes. From this angle, her rounded tummy is more pronounced than ever and a boost of masculine pride fills me.

I did that to her. She’s round with my babies.

But it’s not just me—I’m proud she’s the one carrying them. We may have stumbled into this by mistake, but it’s hard to see it that way when, if given the choice, there’s no one better suited to have my babies than Angie. No one is better suited to raise them with. No one is better suited to me.

Her adorably sexy whimpers encourage me to keep teasing her with my tongue, nipping at her softly with my lips. “I need more, Sir.”

“I know you do, Angel,” I smirk. “But I need this more. You’ll take what you’re given, is that understood?”

She lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” I growl, then use my thumbs to spread her open for better access to that perfect little pink pearl at the top. She writhes above me once my flat tongue drags over it, pulling a pillow over her head to muffle her moans.

When her fingers tighten in my hair and her muscles begin to contract, I know I have her on the precipice—and it’s then that I pull back my aggressive tactics and start slowly, gently, again. Angie whines and lets out a huff of frustration that makes me smile. This time, I enter her with two fingers, carefully pumping into her without touching her clit or her G-spot. I revel in her warmth and my trapped cock begs to be let free inside her. She’s more than ready to take me, but I can’t stop watching the way her bare and beautiful chest lifts and falls and the way her fingers play with each stiff peak.

“Please, Sir,” she whispers. “Please make me come. I don’t care how, just please make me come.”

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