Page 36 of Last Love

Tightness at my wrists matches the tightness between my hips. His fingers flexing is mimicked by the sopping wet muscles swelling and the slippery muscles incessant swelling is mirrored by his lower half hammering.

Ry rocks his entire body into every action, ceaselessly carving us a course down a previously unpaved path. Back bowing sensations from steadily being stroked inside are attached to gritted teeth grunts. An unpredicted obsession with watching him, watching what I do to him, begins to not just develop but to guide my movements.

It pushes me to lift my hips to meet his thrusts.

Brush my harden nipples against his damp chest.

“Be louder, baby,” Ry gluttonously encourages. “Fucking scream for me.” He inches his mouth over to latch onto my neck. “Let everyone know I’m home.”

Home.

That’s exactly how it feels having him between my legs.

Filling me.

Claiming me.

Erasing every touch, every kiss, every placeholder that wanted to be him yet never could.

I give in to his salacious request and moan louder and louder and louder unafraid for my neighbors to hear me

What I’m doing.

Fuck, what we’re doing.

Moaning – something I’ve always done meekly – is instantly praised for the new volume. “I fucking love that sound, Pres.”

The vibrations of his words amplify the trembles already shooting through my body. His tongue languorously travels the length of my neck marking the territory with bites while his hands brand the flesh on my arms. It’s devilish devotion that has my pussy clamping down in desperation to cover him.

To reclaim all that once was and all that will ever be.

“Ryder!” I cry out in a voice I barely recognize as my body surrenders itself completely, offering a bed-shaking orgasm of penance for the lost but not forgotten years.

“Yes, baby,” he grumbles in approval, mouth now creeping towards my ear. “Fucking come for me.”

His thrusting remains ferocious.

Unsated.

“Keep coming for me.”

White-hot, sticky juices do their best to drown his dick and prove our deference.

“Never stop coming for me.”

The thrumming of my pussy should cease yet somehow starts all over again, pushing me to fight against his frame to wrap my legs around his waist for much needed leverage. Another window shattering scream escapes alongside the thundering crackles outside and for the first time since our bodies connected, his movements falter.

There’s an unevenness in his breath.

The stiffness of his cock strains the sensitive muscles to their limits and his grip on me begins to shake.

Greed whirls around my gaze during my purred proclamation, “Your turn, Ry.”

An animalistic grunt is all I’m given prior to teeth sinking into my skin and scorching hot streams splashing against my most intimate depths. My pussy squeezes and milks and gorges on the thick reward, intrigued and infatuated with the new sensation settling itself inside me, pruriently painting the place only Ry has ever had the privilege of declaring as home.

Pleased hums seep from me while my sweat-covered frame untangles itself from him to sag into the mattress.

Despite my legs stretching against the sheets, Ry retains his grip on my arms during his body’s shifting to meet my stare.

Seeing unmistakable love linger in bright hues I thought would only haunt me leads to the biting of my bottom lip.

And the flexing of my fingers to caress him.

And the whimpered request to reaffirm everything once more. “Again?”

“Again.” The man who is somehow simultaneously the love of my life and total stranger slowly circles his hips, softening shaft stirring for a second round. “And again.” He drags one hand the length of my frame to yank the leg now in his grip back around him. “And again, Presley Morrison.”  His mouth lowers so that the final line is whispered against my lips. “Until death parts us.”

Our tongues sign the agreement without ironing out the details or even thinking about the consequences.

We need to talk.

Like we really need to talk.

About that.

About what this is.

About what everything means, what’s been lost, and what we both want from what’s been found.

Like I said we need to talk.

Just not right now.

It’s been fucking years since the deck of life dealt me this much bliss.

And the truth is, I’m not quite ready to get up from the metaphorical table yet.

Maybe in an hour.

Or four.

Or whenever we have to stop to order pizza for fuel.

In the meantime?

I’m gonna enjoy every win and any win I possibly can.

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