Page 91 of Unmatched

He leans in and whispers, “I bet you turned on the entire security line.” I close my eyes as he traces his tongue along the lobe of my ear. “Those TSA agents might dream tonight about you unpacking your suitcase—but I’m the one who gets to play with your toys.”

And just like that, my body ignites.

His free hand slides between my legs, stroking my center through my jeans with the tips of his fingers until I groan, pressing my hips forward. I fumble to unfasten my button and zipper, and he follows my lead, yanking the pants down my legs until I’m sprawled on the bed in just the sheer bra and panties.

He stands over me for what feels like a full minute, staring like he’s drinking me in. My eyes drop to the erection straining against his joggers, and a pulse of excitement shoots through my core.

Then he finds the power switch on the rabbit, filling the too-silent room with the sound of electric sex once again. He traces kisses along my cleavage and touches the vibe to my nipples, rubbing it where they show clearly through my bra until each of them tightens—even the reluctant one—and I gasp, arching my back. He brings his fingers to my center, rubbing the same way he had through my pants, only it’s ten times more powerful through the delicate fabric. I buck against his hand, trying to mitigate the intensity, but it’s too much, and I leap up before it becomes too consuming.

Anton looks startled, like he’s afraid he did something wrong, so I quickly kiss him to let him know I’m just changing things up. I place my hands on his chest, letting my fingers delight in the rippling muscles beneath his skin. Our eyes lock again, and I trace down toward his waist, holding his gaze as I slide his pants down to free his rock-hard cock. I take it in my right hand, briefly exploring between my own legs with my left. I don’t even need to check past my panties, which are already soaked. My vagina has that hot, swollen feeling I remember from exploring with my fingers at home. I have no doubt about my head being in the game, and here’s a physical indicator that my body is definitely turned on.

I sink down to kiss Anton’s thick, throbbing cock. Briefly, I think of the “Classic Guide,” how it instructed to “look enthusiastic” about putting a man’s dick in your mouth. And I do smile, but it’s more for myself this time around, because this feels almost effortless. My body and my mind are one, and I want to suck him off.

I flick my tongue over his tip several times—another instruction I recall—then sink my lips down around his shaft, making sure to keep it slick with plenty of saliva. I start moving up and down, sliding him a little deeper into my mouth each time until he’s teasing the back of my throat. Anton groans, which amps up my excitement, but then I take him a little too deep, and I gag. I pull away for a second, swallowing and making sure I can breathe. I hadn’t expected that, but after a quick glance up at the look of rapture on his face, I decide I’m okay and ready to try again. I open my mouth to take him once more, but as I do, he pulls back, placing a finger under my chin, raising my face to his instead.

His lips descend on mine, and next thing I know, he’s fumbling with the back of my bra. I let the straps slide off my shoulders, but he seems to be having trouble, so I reach back to assist. With one hand, I release the clasp and my breasts spring free, the delicate lace and mesh sliding down my arms. Anton immediately replaces the cups with his hands, closing them hot and urgent over my breasts, squeezing each one lightly but firmly before again teasing my nipples, tugging and kneading them gently, sending little lightning bolts of sensation shooting to my core. I arch my back, seeking more, and he lingers there, squeezing and pulsing, pushing my breasts together—my tits, I think with a deep blush—pressing his face between them, seemingly losing himself in my cleavage.

After exploring every inch of my chest with his mouth and tongue, he travels south, keeping his hands firmly cupped over my breasts. His lips roam down my stomach and over my navel until I feel the trace of his hot breath against the moist fabric between my legs. He gives a last brief tug to each of my nipples before his hands follow, playing at the edge of the floral-decorated lace. He runs his tongue along the center of my panties, over my clit, and he sucks me through the fabric until I let out a sound I don’t even realize I’m making until I stop. Then he reaches for the lace at my hips, sliding the soaked material down and away until the cool air tells me I’m fully exposed. He laps his hot tongue several times up my center, teasing me until I shudder. And then he rises, hovering above me on his knees.

I study him, poised between my legs as he strokes his long shaft, preparing to enter me, and it strikes me again how different this feels. I have stared up at him like this a hundred times, feeling no desire whatsoever despite my love for him. Just bracing to endure whatever came next, what he wanted and would do to get off.

This feels so different. My body and mind feel different. Tuned in to my own arousal and desire, but also his—noticing the ways I react that seem to excite him, seeing his enthusiasm to arouse me. Becoming a participant rather than a reluctant spectator is completely changing how we react to each other, and I’m both grateful for it and regretful that it took me this long. Sex between two people shouldn’t ever be one-sided.

Unless, of course, you’re doing it wrong.

Gently, Anton brings the tip of his cock to my center, rubbing it in my juices until it’s slick, and another thrill radiates through me. I need him inside me. I press my hips up to meet him.

He pauses, looking straight at me with a mix of lust and caution.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I nod without hesitation, parting my lips, adding, “Yes. Please.” In case he needs it to be any clearer. My whole body is alive with anticipation in a way I’ve never felt. Every inch of my skin is on fire, and there’s a desperate urge, almost like an ache between my legs. Like he is all that’s missing from my body.

He lowers his eyelids like he’s gotten the message, and my insides surge as he positions himself, but instead of plunging directly into me, he pauses, reaches to his left, and comes back holding the rabbit. I gasp, opening my mouth to tell him I appreciate the gesture, but my insides are throbbing for him—his cock, hot and hard in my vagina. Before I manage to find words to say this, however, he places the pink silicone in my hand and presses the on button.

I look up, confused, but then he repositions himself at my entrance, his thick head pressed right up against my delicate folds, pulsing in my juices. I close my fingers around the vibrating rabbit as I think I understand. I open my legs a little wider, tilting my pelvis and making more room for him as I lower the vibrator in the same direction. He watches hungrily as it touches down against my clit and I jerk my hips in response. I run the head of the rabbit down to where he rests, getting it just as slick as his dick with my copious juices, and then I lock eyes with Anton, giving him the final go-ahead.

He thrusts his cock inside me, and my hips jut up to meet him. We pause like that, locked together at last, both of us overloaded with sensation as he fills me. The look on his face—eyes closed, lips parted in exaltation—must exactly match my own, because this is exactly what I needed. What that ache at my center was begging for.

Slowly, he begins to move his hips, and—so differently than ever before—I move in time with him. I am apparently so aroused the sound of us moving together is loudly wet and sloppy, but I can’t focus on that long enough to feel embarrassed because his thick cock sliding in and out of me feels so freaking good. There is no dry chafing and pulling, no discomfort, just the most wonderful wet friction. I’m so entranced by the novelty of this sensation that I almost forget the rabbit, but Anton grabs my hand between thrusts, reminding me of the toy still humming in my grasp. He guides it down toward my glistening clit, but then leaves me to do as I please, bracing his arms on either side of me for better leverage.

I look up at him again, his face absolutely euphoric, and it’s like he injects that feeling into me with each thrust. He opens his eyes to find me looking and leans in to meet my lips. Then, firmly holding his gaze with mine, I touch the vibrating rabbit down on my clit.

The effect is complete and instantaneous, electrifying a whole new set of muscles and interconnected nerve endings I had no idea existed. Heat radiates from my center, and I am suddenly so aware of every sensation—my pulsing clit, the weight of his cock filling me, my dripping arousal, and the friction of all these things moving together. Anton straightens, making room for me to guide the vibrator anywhere I need, but he doesn’t slow his pace or pull back. If anything, his thrusts intensify as our eyes lock, our muscles tighten, and then with a sudden groan, he gives one particularly great thrust, and the rabbit shifts into the exact right spot. My center ignites, muscles clamping and spasming around his cock, sending heated sparks through my torso, my limbs, all the way out to my fingers—both of us yelling, clawing, moaning, until finally, together, we collapse.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Seth looks sharp in a gray suit, his figure lean, standing straight and confident, and so much like his brother apart from the sandy hair that I nearly do a double-take. Bruno circles, meowing at his heels as Seth serves up his morning sardine. I smile. Sharon would be glad to know her beloved orange cat is being spoiled rotten.

“Anton went for a run,” he says, taking a mug from a cabinet when he sees me. He pours a generous cup of coffee and slides it across the faded yellow breakfast bar. I wrap my hands around it gratefully.

“I figured,” I say, though I’m secretly relieved by the confirmation. I woke up at seven, Anton’s presence all over me and the sheets, but he was nowhere to be found. He often works out early, but I wasn’t sure. Had he changed his mind after last night? Decided he wanted something different after all?

I ease onto a barstool, my body a little sore, but not in an unpleasant way. Just unfamiliar. Not so much like it’s recovering, but rather savoring a bit longer.

I sip the black brew, make a face, then search in the fridge for cream. “How was your night?”

A wistful smile plays across his lips. “Not bad for a weekday. Do you want details? I can remember the highlights, though names and faces might be a little fuzzy.”

---