Page 72 of Love Deep
“Fisher,” I whimper.
“You taste so good,” he says. His fingers start to move again, moving in circles over me.
My breathing comes in short, sharp bursts and I grip the sheets, trying to hold on. I don’t want to disappoint him.
“Please, Fisher. Please can I come?”
He groans. “Open your eyes. Let me see you.”
I do what he says, desperate to please him. He gazes at me like I’m the most beautiful, sexy woman he’s ever seen.
With a small nod, he says, “Now come.”
His thumb circling my clit and our eyes locked, I break into pieces, my entire body floating up, up, up.
He looks at me with such reverence, like he’s never seen anything so spectacular.
“Fisher,” I say on a sigh.
He rearranges me on the bed and rolls on a condom.
“I have to be inside you,” he grunts. “I’ve waited too long.”
He kneels between my legs. My entire body is floppy, exhausted with the effort of orgasm. But as soon as I feel his crown at my entrance, my body comes alive again. I don’t know how it’s possible.
“Jesus, you’re so wet,” he grunts.
“I want you,” I whisper. “All the time.” It’s a confession I never thought I’d make. I want the same as he does—to keep this light and airy, but something about him makes me want to tell him the truth. Like the secret’s too big to keep to myself.
“I want you all the time, too.” He ends on a gasp as he slides into me.
He’s so big, and I’m so full, but when he’s inside me like this, I feel complete, like he’s the key to my lock.
“Is it too much?” he asks.
“You will never be too much,” I say. It’s exactly enough. He’s exactly enough.
His eyes flutter shut as he begins to move over me. The tendons in his neck tighten and I trace them with my fingers.
I widen my legs, wanting him deeper, more. Wanting him to be part of me. “You’re so incredible,” I whisper,sliding my fingers into his hair. He catches my arms and pushes them over my head.
“I’m going to come if you touch me,” he says, his fingers tightening around my wrists as he thrusts into me.
He dips and presses a kiss to my lips. His forehead is sheened with sweat, and I know it’s all the effort it’s taking him not to come.
Inside me.
I groan at the thought of him being so worked up that just touching him will send him over the edge. This beautiful man who’s surrounded by beautiful, glossy women in New York is fucking me. Is so worked up that he can’t handle me touching him without coming.
I do that to him.
The thought sends a pulse through my entire body and Fisher cries out.
“I’m going to come,” I say, breathlessly. My body is tightening in that familiar way that it does with Fisher. Like I’m being wound over and over and I’m about to snap.
“No!” he bellows. His thrusts grow sharper, needier, less controlled. He must be so close, but he’s not willing to let go. Why?
“Fisher!” I call out. “Please. Please. Please let me come.”
