Page 163 of Butterfly Effect

“Gabe. Oh, myGod.” Relief mutters through his throaty moan. “This is unbelievable.”

His grip around me tightens until his mouth collides with my lower belly, spreading short, open-mouthed kisses across it.

I cherish the feeling of his tongue gliding over a sensitive stretch of skin and hum while rinsing away the suds and replacing it with conditioner. The second scalp massage elicits the same response.

Melting at my touch.

The sharp, woodsy scent of his soap coats both of us as we wash and rinse one last time.

Rising to his feet reveals white and pink blotchy knees. I keep him still on a dry mat, running a towel over him, then myself. His cock bobs, the head a glossy wine red.

I position him at the edge of the bed and angle forward.

“Do me a favor?” His firm hand on my shoulder stops me from kissing him. “Fuck me like you love me.”

My head lolls to one side, so disappointed that I’ve still not told this endearing soul what he means to me. “Wade.”

“Pretend, Freckles,” he says, the sad lilt in his tone breaking my heart. His finger draws a spiral in my palm. “I wanna experience how it feels to be loved by Gabe Finch—just once.”

Every cell in my body screams at me to show mercy, to end his agony and mine.

Like a magnet, my mouth meets the smooth line of his jaw, the rigid column of his neck, the bone of his collar, the strong slope of his shoulder. Goosebumps and his content noises trail after every touch.

He relaxes into my encouraging push into the mattress, and I descend onto him, streaking fastidious, wet kisses across the firm squares of his chest, down the ravine of his sternum, and licking my way to one taut, mauve nipple.

My tongue lashes and lightly sucks, worshipping and worshipping until he writhes beneath me, hands balling the sheets. Then, I move to the other tightened peak.

Breathy groans of my name pool arousal between my thighs and glide the length of his cock between them with ease.

“Oh, God,” he whimpers as I use the ridged underside of his dick to rub my clit and spread a combined wetness up and down. His eyes skewer shut before snapping open again. “Condom?”

I hunch toward him, gasping as we lose connection. “If I loved you, I wouldn’t use one.”

“Fucking fuck. I get to feel you?”

I motion for him to straighten so a pillow supports his head, then straddle his torso once more.

“Please.” My hands seek his, fingers lacing together when they find them. “I want you to feel everything.”

A pair of our woven fingers jointly enter my soaked core, languid strokes prepping my walls. I watch his pupils blow wide and relish how his cock slaps against my ass. “How’s that?”

He mewls.

Setting his hands on my hips, I lie back, pumping his rock-hard shaft. It grows impossibly, leaking clear pre-cum into my fist.

Muscular thighs tense and shudder under mine as he strains for restraint and control. My knees lift, angling him over my desperate clit before lining up with the entrance. Wade’s vision struggles.

“Keep your eyes open,” I demand. “Watch me.”

The simultaneous gasp when the swollen tip stretches me. My nails bite into his chest, thighs floundering to take every inch. I rise until only the tip remains, then sink down, hoping for more. Wade says a bunch of bad words mashed together.

Sweat trickles down my back as I repeat the motion, sliding off and then piercing myself with his cock, again and again until I can bear the fullness, the thick curve inside my throbbing pussy. Pleasure sears through me, arching my spine and tossing my head, loose, wet ends of my hair shaking across my lower back.

Rocking my hips only builds it higher, an uncontrolled high keen launching from my throat.

His head sways side-to-side as I continue the lazy-paced ride. “Am I dead?”

I jolt through words, holding myself in place and laughing. “I hope not. Why would you say that?”

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