Page 115 of Resurrection
Naomi's cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, but she doesn't protest my compliment. Instead, she digs her fingers into my skin so hard, I know I'll have bloody marks tomorrow. The idea of being marked by her has me dizzy with want.
The intensity building between us as I'm pounding into her is too much.
I can tell she's close by the way her body tenses, and the way her pussy throbs and clenches around my cock.
I don't want this moment to end. I drag it out for as long as I can. I fuck her until my balls are about to explode, until she's shaking and mewling unintelligible sounds.
"Ty," she pants out, her voice thick with desire and broken and dry. "I… I'm… Ahhh…"
Knowing she's on the edge pushes me over too. "I want to come with you. I want to fill you up. I want to make this pussy mine and no one else’s,” I rasp out and claim her mouth once more before fastening the pace.
"It's always been yours," she murmurs.
Her words is all I need.
I drill deep inside her one last time before we both come together in a blinding release that obliterates all thoughts but of each other.
For one perfect moment, it's just the two of us in this room, in our own world, like time has been standing still all along.
Her name is a shout in my throat, an echo of how she makes me feel. It fills the room, fills me, and I wonder if there's a word for this kind of magic.
She presses up against me, a force of nature, a miracle I don't deserve. I hold on tight, afraid to blink, afraid to lose even a second. Her lips find mine, fierce and full of fire, and it's like all the missing years are rewritten. I'm here. We're here.
Our bodies shudder as I pour into her while she clamps around me tightly, milking every last drop of my release. Everything blurs into one wild moment that never stops, and then we fall against the mattress, spent and gasping and tangled in each other.
I give her and myself a couple of minutes before pulling out.
My cock is too sensitive and overstimulated and I don't regret this one bit.
I feel the softness of her sheets and the scent of her skin, the world sharper and brighter than it was. We lie still, caught in the aftermath of something huge, something neither of us has words for yet. My hand finds hers, our fingers weaving together, an anchor, a promise.
She nuzzles my neck, her breath a soft rhythm against my chest. "Guess I didn't imagine it," she says, her voice a sleepy smile.
"Imagine what?" I ask, still not believing this is real.
"How good this was."
"It’d be horrible if after all these years, I hadn’t learned how to properly please you."
She slaps my sweaty chest. "Once a cocky asshole, always a cocky asshole."
"That’s just how I am, Nomes. Doesn’t mean I love you any less."
The confession is there, lingering in the post-sex air. I didn’t plan on saying it to her tonight. Yes, I’d be a fool to lie to myself, to think that I’m no longer in love with her. Those feelings—those mind-consuming emotions of youth—they never left. They were just buried deep, locked up and ignored so I could concentrate on my music.
I wanted it to be different. I wanted to go at her pace. Without rushing. I wanted to let her get used to the idea.
But Naomi Medina turns my brain into mush.
She shifts, the brush of her leg against mine enough to set me on fire all over. I’m empty and tired, but I already want her again.
"You don’t know when to stop, do you?" she says, the simple honesty of it nearly knocking me sideways.
I kiss her hair, the top of her head, anywhere I can reach. "I’m sorry." I pull her closer, letting the warmth of her replace the doubt that threatened to eat me alive. "I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with that…"
"Let’s just take this one step at a time," she suggests.
We don't say more, and we don't have to. The quiet says everything, wrapping us in a cocoon of now and maybe tomorrow.
