Page 105 of Faker
He smiles slightly, and a tiny bit of pink makes it onto his cheeks. Quickly, I grip his hand. I don’t want him to lose his nerve.
“Well, don’t just stand there.” I pull him to the bed.
He chuckles and lands on top of me, propping himself on his elbows. He reaches over my head and opens the drawer of his nightstand for a condom. When he’s ready, he slides in.
I gasp and my eyes widen. He seems to know I want to take this slow, because he inches into me with measured control. When I feel the full length of him, I have to take a handful of deepbreaths. No man has delivered this much pleasure to my body at the mere point of entry. Normally, there are kinks to work out the first few times I’m with someone, but Tate is a master. Or an anomaly.
He begins a series of slow thrusts, and my breathing becomes desperate. I bite my lower lip to keep from yelling.
“Enjoying yourself?” He manages to sound professional and in control. If we weren’t naked in his bed, I’d assume he was making small talk in the Nuts & Bolts break room.
I nod frantically. He picks up the speed, then slows down. He switches rhythm again and again until I’m yelping.
“Tell me what you want,” he says with a grunt. Not so in control anymore. I moan with satisfaction.
“This. Keep doing this. Please.” I claw my nails into his shoulders to demonstrate just how much I’m enjoying the present activities. His fingers slide against my scalp and fist my hair in response.
Sweat beads dot the top of his forehead. Just the sight of him causes me to tighten around him. He’s hitting something inside of me no one has before. I don’t know if it’s his size, girth, or technique, and I don’t particularly care. I’m just ecstatic it’s happening. It’s raw and severe and makes me cry out.
He pauses the heavenly thrusting to sit up, and I whine. But then he hooks both of my legs over his shoulders and resumes the pace.
“Holy God,” I slur.
This is heavenly. This is otherworldly. This is all the adjectives I can’t think of because my mind is a pleasure-filled balloon ready to burst. I’ve done this position in the past, but it’s never, ever felt like this. Tate has mastered it. His heroic stamina puts to shame all the men I’ve been with previously. No man should ever attemptthis move without consulting him first so he can tell them how to do it correctly.
The pleasure is building to an unfamiliar point. I can’t remember a single time when it’s ever felt this intense this quickly. The intensity of his heavy, even pace keeps my throat in a near-constant squeeze. I choke on a gasp.
“Don’t stop,” I groan. My head dips back when he hits a particularly deep spot.
For an untold number of minutes I’m on the cusp of exploding. I take in the close view of his bare shoulders and biceps, glistening with sweat.
“I want you every way I can have you,” he says.
The gentle tone combined with the tickle of his breath against my ear works wonders. I have to pull from my deepest inner reserves to keep my composure underneath him. I steady my breathing. My mission, if I choose to accept it, is to keep myself from losing it too soon. And, boy, will I ever try. That’s one for the record books. Never have I ever had to stop myself from reaching climax too quickly. I’ve always had to consciously remind myself to relax, let go, and on those rare occasions that I’m lucky and the stars align, it comes. Not tonight. Tonight my entire body is begging for release. I’m teetering on the edge, an inch from falling. I want to savor every morsel.
Just when I think I’ve gotten a hold of myself, he whispers into my ear how gorgeous I look, how my skin is the softest thing he’s ever touched, and how he wants to feel my body against his forever. My knees tremble, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. Ecstasy is seconds away, max.
I feel the start of the inevitable drop. I wrap my legs around his waist, claw my nails into the meaty part of his shoulders, and tilt my head back for a long overdue scream.
“Harder,” he moans. I obey, digging my fingers in his thick skin while squeezing my legs tighter. The distant, concentrated look in his eyes tells me he’s not far off either.
The moment it hits, I’m caught off guard. I thought I had longer. My body convulses, like I’ve been struck by lightning while enduring the frenzied g-force of a roller coaster. I have no control over myself. My body heaves and twists around him violently, and there’s nothing I can do but claw at his hair and back while screaming gibberish. When I finish, he groans, shudders, and then stops moving. He must have lost it right along with me.
I beam a pleasure-drunk grin at him. “That was... I don’t even... Fuck.”
He smiles back but says nothing. When he peels himself off of me, I stare at the ceiling. I can’t make out any colors or shapes. A fuzzy blur is all I see. I keep blinking until I regain focus. I’m completely stripped of my old self. I am no longer made of metal, tough and hard and unrelenting. I am goo. I am slush. I am a pile of sweaty skin, pumping blood, and vibrating bones. Tate has extracted everything tough about me and replaced it with mind-blowing pleasure. Faking in bed isn’t an option anymore. I’m physically unable to pretend. Everything from this moment on is real and true and painted in a blissful, postorgasmic glow.
As shaky as I am, I feel empowered. I can conquer the world. No matter the challenge, I will throw down. Air gliding. Applied mathematics. Three-dimensional origami. The intoxicating aftershocks pulsing throughout my body make it so. The bliss powering this afterglow is life changing. I can do all things after a night with Tate Rasmussen, bringer of elusive, incredible orgasms.
When I’m finally able to see again, I turn to him. His haphazard curls have been smoothed down, and his face is wiped dry. He must have gone to the bathroom to clean up.
“You’ve broken me,” I babble.
“It was totally and completely my pleasure.” He brushes a sweaty mass of hair from my face.
“We have to do this again.” My eyelids droop. Exhaustion is settling in, and I’m ready for a night of heavy sleep.
“Just name the time and place.”
