Page 69 of Embrace Me Forever

My body convulses as I scream without restraint. The mix of sensations teeters on the edge, exerting hypnotic control over my senses, even as an exhilarating crisis dances at the brink of my bladder.

“Fuck…don’t stop, Georgia-May,” Blake rasps. I can tell he’s enjoying watching me squirm as I discern his unmistakable scent. My blindness doesn’t stop me from imagining him hard, with precum dripping off the tip of his crown.

My arms stretch against their restraints, but the thought of freedom doesn’t cross my mind. Why would you forgo the exquisiteness of being his captive? Feeling like a subject to a sexual deity?

The temperature rises as his firm body hovers over mine, his tantalizing hair waking up my pores. His palms glide around my mid-section, the scars on them leaving an imprint of his mark.

Then he grasps my groin. “Move for me, baby,” he keeps on growling while his skilled fingers venture into the depths of my core, stroking, occasionally manipulating my clit.

I buck as wildfires rage within me. His actions soon grow increasingly primal, signaling a desire that cannot be contained for much longer.

In that moment, he withdraws his hand, nudging my thighs to widen to accommodate his hips. Then, I feel the solid, broad head of his cock throbbing against my opening. Once he enters, there’s no holding him back.

Glorious. Fucking glorious.

“Blake…” I huff. His grip is so tight it feels as if the pleasure I’ve been receiving is being preserved. The intensity of the play has been so gratifying that his penetration threatens to explode me right here, right now.

But I hold. I won’t allow myself to climax, not while Blake is still relishing our connection. With the blindfold obstructing my vision, I rely on my other senses to guide me. The experience is almost mystical. As if I’m floating while the man I adore indulges me without any limitations.

Overwhelmed, I finally confess, “Blake, I can’t hold on any longer.”

“Let it go, baby. Let it go,” he encourages.

And there it is. A powerful orgasm, filled with a fanfare of passion, sensitivity, and a sense of rebirth. There’s sex, there’s making love, and then there’s Blake. His hips tremble as he reaches the peak of his pleasure, his ecstatic cry compelling me to press my restrained body against his as if I could encapsulate it within myself.

After a few breathless moments, he removes my blindfold. His gray eyes meet mine, emanating a sense of peace and satisfaction that is unique to him. As he pulls out, his hardened member still sheathed, he rolls to the side and frees my hands.

“Talk about special,” I pant.

He responds with a smile as if fulfilling a promise. The lines around his eyes form, tickling me in a different way. I mean,those crow’s feet are definitely high on my list of favorites. And his eyes—obviously—and let’s not forget that smile, his broad chest, those biceps, his strong legs, his bulbous ass. Pretty much everything, honestly.

The afternoon is giving way to the hint of dusk, the world beyond our small cocoon forgotten. His hand drifts up to stroke my hair, each movement slow, almost reverent, as if he’s memorizing the feel of me in his arms.

We’ve found something that words could never capture. Just us, here, now. And that’s enough.

23

BLAKE

With the past few days spent at Rob’s, the silence at my house is more profound than I remember, more so than when I was its only inhabitant. But as much as I cherished the lively chaos of a big family, it’s time to retreat to the simplicity of my own little trio. Me, Georgia-May, and Coco.

I firmly believe that the title ‘man of the house’ holds its weight, no matter how far civilization progresses. We men are wired with a primitive instinct to provide for, protect, and care for those who depend on us. For years, lacking these responsibilities left me with a void, a hollowness more severe than just the absence of love. Now, with my girls by my side, I’m invigorated with a purpose that completes me. I am fulfilled, useful, and wholly human once more.

Coco’s tired form is nestled against my shoulder, seemingly indifferent to Poppy’s enthusiastic antics intended to welcome us home.

“Mommy?” Coco searches for Georgia-May.

“I’m here, sweetie,” Georgia-May calls from her bedroom. “I’m just getting your crib ready.” Moments later, she sidles up to Coco, her arms flung open. “Want to come to Mommy?”

Instead, Coco giggles and tightens her grip around me, clearly choosing her current comfort over a change of arms.

Georgia-May chuckles, amused by her daughter’s trick. “Oh, you prefer Blake now, huh?”

“That’s my girl,” I whisper into Coco’s tiny ear, a whisper of alliance. “Let’s give Mommy a little break, okay?”

“Love you!” Coco waves at Georgia-May.

“I love you too, baby,” Georgia-May continues to coax her. At this moment, it’s a toss-up. Who’s more adorable, the mom or her daughter?

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