Page 127 of Family Affair
“Promise.”
“I swear.”
“On your life.”
“My life isn’t worth shit. But I swear. I do.”
He kissed her, a deep, bruising, desperate kiss.
She let go of him and gripped her jeans fumbling with the zipper in a frantic effort to rip them off, desperate to feel more of him on her bare skin.
He was right there with her, his hands helping, tugging at the denim and pulling it down her legs. He cupped her bare bottom, kneading it and spreading her. Her tangled hair got in the way and he let go of her butt to burrow both hands into it, brushing it back from her face, and his eyes went black, crazy, and she liked them that way.
She let her hands roam, touching him everywhere, learning, feeling him in all places. She wanted it to last, to go slowly, to memorize his body, but moderation became a foreign concept. She couldn’t slow down to save her life.
He lifted her, effortlessly, and they fell onto the mattress, he on top, heavy, and she sobbed. This was what she craved, his weight, the bulk of his body pressing into her, her love, her life… The throbbing in her pelvis transcended pleasure and turned into pain.
“Calm down, love, calm down. It’s gonna ease up when you come. You’re almost there…”
He reached down between their bodies and undid his jeans. She snaked her hands down there to grip him, thick and swollen, and felt an answering gush of liquid heat between her own thighs. She encircled him with both hands and pumped, enjoying the slide of tender skin under her hands, the tension in his belly, the way he bowed his back and the small instinctive thrusts of his hips that helped her pump.
He propped himself on his arms and leaned down, sucking her nipple into his mouth, hard and deep.
Her spine tingled, and she gasped, afraid to move, afraid she’d orgasm before he even entered her. He got the clue and nudged her legs wider, and she was all too happy to oblige. Their sexes touched and his gaze found hers.
The black of his expanded pupils almost completely swallowed the lovely sherry color of his irises. In this breathless moment she saw that he had short, dense lashes with the upper and lower hairs crisscrossed at the outer corners. Such a small, intimate detail…
He pulled her hands away from his groin and pushed his hips forward and up, seating himself all the way in.
She loved it. She loved him.
“Christ, you’re so wet…” He cursed on an exhale and began to move.
She didn’t remember much of the slick push and withdraw of his body. She came somewhere between the third and the fourth pump, spasming and screaming and gripping his hair and scratching his back like a wild woman, and he rode her through it, rocking steady, pinning her down with his weight and size. He came, too, she knew it from the sudden tautness of his back and the echoing throbs of him buried deep inside her.
She wanted to say how happy he made her, how complete, but her lethargic body refused to perform even the simplest act of whispering, and she was losing consciousness, slipping into deep sleep or a coma, she wasn’t sure which, the events of the evening catching up with her and crashing her overstimulated system…
