Page 92 of Wallflower
My muscles ripple around nothing again, and I thrash on the bed as tonight’s third orgasm pushes me closer to the edge of insanity. I need to come with Chord inside me. I can’t take it anymore.
I open my eyes, and Chord’s kneeling over me with his towering cock slipping in and out of his fist. His heavy thighs aretight, his muscled forearms hard, his blue eyes hazy and hooded, his jaw feathered with restraint.
I nibble my lip as I watch him play, the crown of him tight and dark, and veins throbbing between his fingers. Then he retrieves a condom from the pocket of his pants. I hold my breath and follow the path of his nimble fingers as he rolls it on, fighting the tight rubber to the base like it might not fit.
“You want this, Wallflower?” he asks in a throaty voice.
I nod as a single tear leaks down my face. “Please.”
“Don’t you remember?” he asks as he moves over me, his powerful shoulder muscles flexing as he balances on one elbow and lines himself up with my soft, swollen center. “You never have to beg me for anything.”
He drives home so hard and fast that I cry out and arch toward him. His fingers thread into my hair as he holds still, sweat beading on his forehead, and I dig my fingers into his arms as I adjust to his size.
My hips begin to rock without me realizing it, slowly at first, then with a frenzy I’ve never known. Chord grunts and curls into me, sweating and still as I take what I need.
“That’s it,” Chord grunts. “Use me. Use my cock. Use what I have to get what you need.”
It doesn’t take long. He’s so deep and so hard, and my clit is hitting the base of his cock just right, that in no time at all, I’ve brought myself to the most glorious orgasm I’ve ever had. Moisture soaks us both, and I moan as my body turns limp.
Chord starts to move his hips in long, slow, excruciatingly delicious thrusts. I’m already breathless, but as the rhythm of his hips gets faster and more forceful, my oversensitive clit aches with every contact. I claw at his firm, round ass and wrap my legs around his waist, doing my best to keep him close.
“Good fucking girl,” he whispers, voice strained and cock slamming inside me, hitting something I’ve never felt before. “Let me give you what you want. Let me make you happy.”
“Yes!” I pant as another orgasm builds deep inside my core. “Yes! Oh God! Chord! Yes!”
“And if that’s the only thing I do right for the rest of my life,” he grunts, sweat slicking his entire body so his hot skin slides against mine so beautifully, “I’ll be the happiest man in the whole— damn— world. Ah,fuuuuuck!”
Our climaxes crash over us at the same time, mine a full-body wave that saps the last of my strength. Above me, Chord groans and rocks, and I find the energy to kiss the line of his shoulder, the salty moisture of his skin dancing on my tongue.
Chord carefully pulls out and rolls away, then drags me against him so we don’t lose contact longer than we need to. With his arm under my head, I snuggle against his side, both of us glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with deep, shallow breaths.
“Holy hell, Wallflower.” He curls his arm to bring my head to his lips, and he kisses my forehead. “I—”
“Shh.” I set my fingers on his lips to stop him from talking, and he raises his scarred eyebrow with a question.
I blink back more tears because even though I never knew to dream of a night like this, all my hopes for a happy life were about thisfeeling. Maybe it doesn’t matter what it looks like. Maybe it only matters that it makes you happy. Hopeful. Content.
Chord’s brows draw together, and behind my fingers, his lips turn down with worry, but I press on them harder to stop him from speaking, then draw them away and move in for a soft, romantic kiss.
I rest my head on his chest and smile around a deep, joyful breath. This is it. Chord is it. A life filled with moments like this is all I’ll ever want.
And finally, I say it.
“I love you, too.”
thirty-five
Chord
13 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
I step out ofthe house and onto the front porch, too wired to stop for more than a moment to watch Violet all happy and content in her new favorite place—curled up on the Adirondack chair, sketching with her chunky headphones on, oblivious to the world.
I move closer and tap her headphones, and she pulls them off with an adorable smile.
“Can I help you?” she teases.
“You can. I need you to get dressed for a trip to San Francisco. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
