Page 72 of Sawyer

“Can I tongue fuck you some more?”

“Sure,” she says, nuzzling my nose with hers, “but only if you fuck me for real after.”

I raise my eyebrows, instantly turned on by her suggestion.

“Here?”

“Why not?”

“It’s kind of public,” I say. “Are we sure we’re alone?”

“I think so.” She leans up on her elbow and looks around. “He told everyone to go home, right? Even Aaron, Reeve, and McKenna. He said he wanted a ‘silent space’ to workshop the death scene.”

“Yeah. That’s true,” I say, pulling at the light blue ribbons on the bodice of her nightgown. I untie the bow at her throat, loosening the neck of the fabric so that I can pull it down. Her breasts are bare underneath, creamy with rose-colored nipples that strain and pucker as the cool theater air touches them. “Jesus. You’re not wearing a bra.”

“More authentic that way,” she says with a sexy smile.

I cup the swell of her breast in my palm, plumping it lightly so my lips can cover the nipple completely. I lave it with my tongue, sucking it gently between my lips before skimming my lips to the right and kissing its twin. Ivy’s hands plunge into my hair, her fingernails razing my skull. She murmurs and whimpers her pleasure. Her breasts are sensitive, which I love.

With her breath coming faster, in little pants, I slide down her chest, pushing the nightgown down with me. I pepper kisses on her warm, soft belly before peeking up at her.

“You really want to? Here?”

“I really want to. Y-yes.”

I push the nightgown down lower, over her hips, exposing her pussy, and settle myself between her legs. Lifting each thigh in turn, I put her knees on my shoulders and lean into the slick warmth of her sex. Our stage kisses have already made her wet, and she writhes beneath me as I lap at the tight bundle of nerves that stiffens and puckers under my tongue.

I don’t stop as I reach for my breeches, undoing the buttons on either side of my pelvis to open the codpiece. Through the slit in my boxers, I reach for my long and hardened cock. With her legs still thrown over my shoulder, I lean forward and enter her in one smooth thrust.

She cries out, her head thrown back and her eyes closed as I draw away, then drive forward again. With her knees now bent against her breasts, and her legs straight up against my shoulders, I plunge deep with every pump of my hips. Deeper than I’ve ever been before.

In Ivy. In love.

On the stage, the sound is louder than it is in my bed, her cries amplified as they bounce off the wooden stage and echo under the spotlight held steady on our lovemaking. It’s the most erotic experience of my life, and I’m desperate to slow down my orgasm which builds and swirls, faster and huge, inside of me. I want us to come together. I want to remember this moment forever.

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna come,” pants Ivy. “Come with me. Come now, Sawyer!”

Her words are my undoing, and I am helpless to do anything but her bidding. I let myself go, the pulsing of my cockinside of her the best sensation I’ve ever felt in my life. Leaning forward, I cover her mouth with mine, tongue fucking her madly as we orgasm together, a tangle of limbs and bedsheets, of urgency and love.

As the aftershocks make my body shake and shudder, I withdraw from her gently, rolling onto my back and pulling her against my side.

“I love you, Ivy Caswell. Forever,” I promise her through shallow breaths. “There will never be anyone else for me. Just you.”

She rests her head on my shirt, the linen soaked with sweat from such exertion under hot lights. Her body flinches and trembles in the wake of her own orgasm, little quakes and tremors that tell me her body is as satiated as mine.

But I come to realize that she’s also crying, softly weeping as she cuddles against me.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, trying to lean up so I can see her face.

She places her hand flat on my chest to hold me down, to hold me still.

“I’m fine,” she sobs softly. “It’s just so beautiful with you. Every time. And then you say…you say something like that, and I just…I just…”

Too much, I think to myself.She hasn’t even said ‘I love you’ yet, and you’re saying it all the time. It’s too much pressure, too much—

“I love you,” she whispers.

She’s so quiet, I’m not positive I’ve heard her correctly, or imagined what I’ve been longing to hear my whole life. I freeze, holding her against me, not daring to make a sound.

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