Page 50 of Setting Limits

When he stops, I let him go, and he supports me in his arms as he smiles devilishly and deliciously.

“That was pretty sexy, Chels. See? Video games can be fun to play together.”

“I’ll gladly play with you if that’s going to happen every time.”

“Oh, sweets. Next time, I plan to taste you while you play, see how long you can go before you can’t play anymore. And another time, I’ll fuck you. I have all kinds of plans.”

Before I can answer, he moves out from behind me and stands, quickly picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. He smacks my ass, hard, as he walks to the bedroom and then throws me on the bed, crawling over me and leaning down, dragging his nose along mine as he reaches for the far bedside table to get a condom.

I tear at his clothes, needing to feel his skin on my skin, his warmth against my cold, just…him.

He has us both naked in seconds and slowly rolls the condom on, torturing me with his delay. It’s a little game he likes to play, to see how far can he push Chelsea before she snaps.

Today, it’s not long, and I sit up to hook my hands behind his head and yank him down on top of me, tilting my hips up toward his, seeking his hard length,needingevery single inch of him.

With a small chuckle at my impatience, he eases himself into me. “Oh, fuck.” I’d echo his sentiments if I could think.

The buildup, the way he played me so well in the living room, it’s all put me on edge.

Wes starts moving his hips slowly at first, too slowly, and I push back against him, trying to lead, wanting to flip us so I can be on top. But Wes is a dominator in the bedroom. If he doesn’t want to let me take control, he won’t.

And right now, he doesn’t want me to, pushing me back into the mattress and picking up momentum. “All you have to do is ask, sweetness. I’m not cruel. In fact, I think you’ve found me to be very giving in the bedroom.”

Giving, he certainly is. I have more orgasms with Wes than I’ve ever had. Even solo. He reads my body so well, like he just knows what I need, when I need it, and how I need it.

Like right now, as he’s all but fucking me into the mattress, and I’m writhing and screaming as I tighten around him and flatten to the bed, utterly exhausted.

Weston keeps pistoning into me for a few more minutes while every stroke has me whining, readying for more, before his head tips back with a groan and I know he’s coming.

With a hitched breath, he falls against me, our bodies slick and my mind hazy. He nibbles along my collarbone before climbing off me and disposing of the condom, a task I’ve never envied in men, but I appreciate his attention to detail, making sure it’s not leaking.

“God, you’re the best fucking sex I’ve ever had. And not just cause I’m way more into you than I have been any other girl.”

“I could say the same.”

“Oh really? You’ve been into girls?”

I gently push at his side as he laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“You know I hate thinking about any other guy even touching you, but I’m glad you can appreciate my expertise.” How incredibly hypocritical of him. But I can’t say I blame him either.

“And you think I like thinking about how you got that expertise?”

“Aw, is my baby jealous?”

“At least as jealous as you. I don’t share either, and I don’t like thinking about you with other women. I know you have been, obviously, but I don’t like to think about you pleasing them the way you please me.”

“Trust me, sweetness, I’ve never pleased any woman the way I please you. You’re something special, incredible, amazing. Like our bodies just connect in a way I never thought possible.” That’s the same way I would describe it. It’s this strange connection that can’t quite be explained, but is strong and palpable.

A gentle kiss is whispered against my lips as Wes pulls me into his chest and starts playing with my hair.

“I really love these waves, by the way. You’ve always been gorgeous, but it just adds a new level.”

I’m glad he likes it, because I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it yet. It’s been a few months, but I’m still not sure. Wes liking it certainly makes me more inclined to keep doing it, to keep up with the care.

Never before have I cared what a guy thought of my looks enough to change them for him. I’ve had boyfriends who loved when I curled my hair, boyfriends who loved when it was pin straight, boyfriends who loved when it waved, some who even wanted me to dye it. But I never did any of those things because I never cared about pleasing them. I never cared whattheypreferred or wanted.

But I do care what Wes thinks and how Wes feels because I like making him happy. And it’s a scary notion.

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