Page 63 of Glass Half Full
“Renee.”
I don’t know if it’s a question, but I answer the only way that seems right.
“Dylan.”
We both gasp when I take him inside me, not hesitating or stopping until I have him as far as he can go. I forget how to breathe. I forget how to think. I forget everything except how good this feels, until some distant part of me remembers to move, and then my whole world is burning. I thrust myself onto him again and again, until his face twists with something close to agony and his hands find my hips, squeezing so hard it hurts. I collapse down on his chest and cry out against his neck as he drives himself inside me.
I’m a mewling mess by the time he flips me onto my back and starts to fuck me so hard the bed bangs against the wall. I have to bite down on my hand to keep from screaming.
“Renee, I—Oh, fuck.”
My name on his lips brings me back enough to realize he’s getting close. I cling to this moment of intimacy, to the sight of him falling apart inside me. I feel him stiffen, feel his whole body go rigid for that tense second before ecstasy overwhelms him and he says my name again, breathes it like it’s the last word he’ll ever say.
I take him in my arms after he falls forward onto my chest. We lie still as a few minutes pass, long enough that our hearts no longer sound like they’re racing toward cardiac arrest—though their pace is still far from normal. I feel him twitch inside me, and my muscles flex around him in response. He groans.
“Dylan, that was—”
He puts a finger on my lips. “I’m not done with you.”
He leaves to get rid of the condom and pauses in the doorframe when he comes back.
“God, you look like a fucking miracle.” He shakes his head as he takes in the sight of me lying naked in his bed.
I don’t have time to prepare for what’s coming before he’s kneeling on the mattress in front of me, spreading my legs apart to stare at the most intimate part of me. I watch his face, and I don’t feel ashamed. How could I when he’s staring at me like I’m just that—a miracle?
“Oh my god.”
My whole body arches at the first stroke of his finger up my length. He teases me, dipping inside me and circling my clit before repeating the process so many times I’m sure I must be going insane.
I have to bite my hand again when he finally fits two fingers all the way in and starts to fuck me with a slow, steady rhythm that hits me just where I need him. I can feel myself squeezing him, urging him on.
I give up all restraint and really do scream when he bows his head and latches his mouth onto my clit. I’ve been staring up at the ceiling, but one glance at him between my legs like that, pleasuring me in the most intimate way possible, completely devoted to making me fall apart, has me right on the edge.
“Dylan, you’re going to make me come.”
He groans and slides his free hand up my body, caressing my stomach before cupping my breast. I’m so close, sofuckingclose, and as the thrashing desperation takes hold, I grab his hand and move it so his fingertips are brushing my throat. I want the pressure there. I want him to take everything he can from me.
His tongue sweeps over just the right spot, flicks it again, and then again, and then I’m calling out his name one last time before I throw my head back and feel my spine curve with the force of my release.
He keeps going even after I come, dragging my orgasm out in rolling waves that leave me shaking and gasping. When I finally can’t take it anymore, I tug him up towards me, and he gathers me in his arms.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers, stroking my hair as I tuck my head under his chin. “You are the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen, Renee.”
I believe him. Lying here with him like this, I believe him. I am incredible.
* * *
“How did you know?”
It’s sometime in the depths of the early hours before dawn. Dylan and I agreed to stop checking the time a while ago. We drifted off to sleep at some point, woke up hungry for each other again, and now he’s spooning me and stroking my stomach in a way that’s getting me in the mood for a round three I’m not sure my body can take, so I ask the question to distract us both.
“Know what?” he replies.
“About the marshmallows. I keep wondering. It was way too specific for you to have just thought of it on the spot. How did you know to do that?”
“You don’t think I could have come up with that?” he jokes. “I’m a resourceful guy.”
“But really,” I insist, “how did you know?”
