Page 60 of Happy After All

I can’t look at my body that way.

I barely look at it. I don’t look in the mirror when I get out of the shower. I don’t examine my figure to see how my bathing suit fits. I ignore my body, if I’m honest.

It’s probably why I’ve been celibate.

Because I pretend it isn’t there.

I withhold joy from it. I withhold satisfaction.

And he looks at me likethis.

I don’t want to cry, because even though I’m not super experienced with passionate sex-only interludes, I know that men don’t want women crying in the middle of them.

So I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. He growls, all wild, and I love it, and then he kisses a line down my neck, straight to my breast, sucking one nipple deep in his mouth. I arch up off the mattress, my pleasure too great to be contained. I cry out, and I’m not even embarrassed. I don’t care if anyone can hear me through the walls. I don’t think they can. If so, I probably would have heard my fair shareof sexual encounters on the other side of that wall over the years, and I haven’t.

But I don’t care either way.

He blazes a trail down my body with expert kisses and pushes his hands into the waistband of my pants and underwear, drawing them down my thighs. I lift my ass off the bed and help him get it off—all of it—because I need to be naked with him. Against him.

Then he’s pushing my legs apart and his mouth is on me. He feasts on me like he’s starving, but I’m the one who’s ravenous. Desperate for more. For everything. His mouth plays havoc with me, his fingers stroking me, taking me higher, further than I’ve ever been.

When I shatter, it isn’t with a rush of completion. It’s like a wave that crashes over me and doesn’t stop. I am shaking, and it’s relentless. It is both the most satisfied I have ever been and the most desperate for more I’ve ever felt in my life. As I’m riding out the last vestiges of my orgasm, he moves up my body and kisses me. Then he moves away, just for a moment, and is undoing his belt buckle, taking off his jeans and underwear faster than I’ve ever seen any man move. He is ...

I give thanks.

He is the most beautiful naked man I have ever seen. Thick and long. Undoubtedly the most incredible specimen I’ve ever beheld.

I know a moment of trepidation because it has been a long time, but the little wicked part of myself that has risen up aggressively since he first kissed me in the courtyard is thrilled. She wants to feel it. She maybe even wants to hurt. So that she knows. That she’s claimed. That it’s real.

My breath catches as he tears the condom open and rolls it down his impressive length. Then he’s back, kissing my mouth, sliding his hand around to cup my ass as he lifts me from the bed and presses the head of his cock to my slick entrance. He goes slow. I want to beg him to go faster.

He whispers things against my mouth, and I can’t understand them. It’s like he’s praying, or saying a spell that keeps me held in thrall.

I take him, inch by glorious inch.

It’s everything. So is he.

When he’s inside me, all the way to the hilt, he presses his forehead to mine and rests just for a moment. I’m strung out.

Desire is building deep, and I’m desperate to come again.

He begins to move, withdrawing slightly before thrusting home.

Again and again.

I never want it to end. I want to live in this moment for as long as I possibly can.

His movements become more erratic. He becomes less careful.

I encourage him. I beg him for more. My fingernails turn into claws I scrape down his bare back, over the sculpted muscles and that gorgeous skin.

He fucks me into the mattress like I’m unbreakable and precious, and I want to be both. For him. For me.

I have never felt stronger. I have never felt more beautiful.

I bite his lip, and he growls. He grabs my wrists, holding them fast in one hand as he moves them roughly over my head, pinning me down as he continues to take me.

“Nathan,” I say.

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