Page 50 of Mayflower

I might be having a heart attack. I’m not, but I’m pretty sure my heart is having arrhythmia and tachycardia all at once. I feel like I’m deprived of oxygen. I’m breathing so fast with my mouth open that it’s ashy-dry. Our chests smack against each other as we pant loudly. Raven’s entire body is trembling when he rolls his hips, still inside me.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, kissing my shoulder. “That was…”

“Intense,” I blurt with a pant.

“Yeah.”

I stroke his back, smiling with my eyes closed.

“I think I’m still hard,” he murmurs with a chuckle. He rolls his hips and lifts his head, his beautiful smile hovering over my lips, his icy blues meeting my eyes. “One more? Or do you want a little break?”

I laugh, shaking, feeling him hard inside me, and I roll my hips against him, nudging him into tiny thrusts.

He crowds me, overwhelms me. It’s nothing like I’ve felt before. I savor the feeling of him inside me, like energy flows between us, and we are trying to refill it and share.

“Give me one more,” I murmur against his lips before he claims another kiss.

This time, he goes slow. His caresses are more thoughtful. But we don’t chase another orgasm.

“Missed you so much, Mayflower,” he whispers.

“Yeah, baby. Me too.”

He goes completely still, the sudden change so drastic that I open my eyes and stare at him.

His eyes are blazing. “What was that?”

“What?” My heart gives out a panicky beat.

“That word you just used.”

What did I say?

Baby.

Oh, God, I’m overdoing it.

“Is it too much?” I whisper.

His hips do a little swirl, his erection deliciously filling me up. He lifts himself higher on his elbows, his hand cups my face, and his thumb brushes against my lower lip.

“I like it,” he whispers. “Say it again.”

He starts thrusting into me again, watching my mouth like it’s about to say something miraculous.

“Yes,” I murmur. To the word. To us. To him inside me. And him naked, flush against me.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, baby,” I whisper with a smile.

His lips crash against mine with such force that I go dizzy and moan into his mouth.

And then come his rhythmic thrusts, his fingers slipping down between my legs, and his skillful touch. Suddenly, he pulls out, sits up on his knees, pulls me closer, bringing my pussy against his cock, and fucks me as he pushes my thighs wider, watching me, my face, my breasts that he strokes, his cock sheathed inside me. He spreads my pussy lips and strokes me with his fingertips, that teasing touch that always sends me over the edge. And I look up at his powerful body, bruised, scarred, muscled, tempered with hard life—all of it mine, all of him—and I let myself come, not holding back. Not the moans, not the pants, not the way I let my back arch and roll my hips, and when the orgasm subsides, I bring my hand between us, cup his balls just like he likes, and make him come within seconds.

We lay on the bed for some time afterward, not bothering to cover ourselves up—that’s unusual for Raven. Our legs are touching, and so are our hands. I breathe deeply, taking in his scent, run my fingertips across his chest—to make sure he’s real. He covers my hand on his chest, his eyes on the ceiling, blinking lazily, and I wonder what he’s thinking about. Whether he missed me the way I missed him.

“You need food,” I finally say.

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