Page 57 of So Close

“Only if we honeymoon for months,” I barter. “I don’t care where as long as there’s no one else around.”

Your head lifts. “Deal.”

Your face is flushed, and there is sweat on your brow. I register how incredibly handsome you are, then you swivel your hips, and I register how hard you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were unsatisfied.

“Impressive,” I say with a laugh.

“Ridiculous,” you counter. “I’m a man in my thirties now, not a randy kid in college. I shouldn’t lose it two minutes after I start fucking my wife. And I should need some damn recovery time.”

You kiss me deeply, thoroughly. When you lift your head again, your eyes are dark with hunger. “I can’t feel my legs, but my cock is ready for Round Two.”

Pushing up onto your forearm, you reach between us until you touch where I’m stretched to hold you. I’m soaked with your semen, and you massage it into my skin, rubbing my clitoris in an unhurried circle. Your waistband gently abrades my inner thighs, reminding me that you were so desperate to be inside me you barely got your pants down.

You bite your lower lip when my inner muscles clench. Your stroking thumb is tireless, the pressure featherlight. My sex tightens until you growl with the pleasure of it.

“You keep milking me like that,Setareh, and this won’t last long.”

“Oh!” I start writhing beneath you, desperate to ride your erection, but your weight holds me down.

You rub and squeeze, relentlessly stimulating, then quickening the pace. I’m trembling. Your kiss takes me over, the stroke of your tongue too much to bear. The climax breaks in a rush of sparkling sensation, shimmering through me until even my toes and fingertips tingle.

Panting, I blink up at you through a sensuous haze.

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell me, brushing your lips back and forth over mine. “The most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You must not look in the mirror, then.”

Your grin is brazen as you straighten away from me. I whimper as you leave me, my sex clinging in protest. The firelight halos you as you stand and shove your pajama pants to the floor.

Oh, but you’re magnificent.

You arrange me to your satisfaction: straddling one of my legs on your knees with my other calf propped against your shoulder. You take yourself in hand.

“Kane, you can’t be serious.”

“Six years,” you say grimly, finding me again and pushing inside with a rough purr. “I’ve craved you that long, and I’m not satisfied yet.”

I gasp. My sex accepts you more easily now, slick as I am with your semen, but your proportions still border overwhelming. The position you’ve placed me in allows you to press impossibly deeper. Restless, I moan and shift, packed deliciously full.

A roll of your hips stirs your penis inside me. I’m swollen and hypersensitive, so the subtle move has an unsubtle impact. You fluidly withdraw, hovering with just the tip inside me. Gripping the arm of the sofa above my head with both hands, your next sleek thrust through my scissored legs hits the end of me. It’s ecstasy, and I moan, suddenly greedy for more.

You stare down at me, your features taut with lust. “I’m still in love with you.”

My eyes squeeze shut against your pain and mine.

“Don’t shut me out,” you order gruffly. “Keep your eyes open.”

Watching you make love to me is as erotic as feeling it. The visual of your powerful muscles flexing with exertion, your virile body devoted to arousing and satiating mine as often as I can bear it is a singular provocation, and you know it. You ruthlessly exploit your physical perfection as another weapon in your extensive sexual arsenal.

You withdraw and thrust quickly, grinding against me for a long moment before another rapid withdrawal and thrust. The irregular tempo of swift retreat and entry paired with lingering penetration kindles a white-hot need.

The way you’ve positioned me – one leg balanced against your shoulder, the other bracketed by yours – ensures there’s no way for me to reach you. I can only lie still and take the skillfully timed thrusts of your extravagant erection. The wide, flared head of your penis massages the delicate channel of my sex. The sensation of being overly full and then emptied in rapid succession is maddening. My body rocks back and forth into that deliberate, wickedly knowledgeable stroking, the fur beneath me a further stimulation.

I’m overcome. The pleasure becomes unbearable. I’m mewling and can’t stop; you feel too wonderful. It’s too much. Then you shift me slightly, and the next drive glides over the spot inside me that threatens my sanity.

“Kane.” My hands fist in the fur beneath me as if holding on will make the approaching climax endurable. “I … I’m going to come.”

“I know.” The full fiery intensity of your focus is on me, your eyes pools of deep black, your cheekbones flagged with high color. Your tongue glides over your full lower lip in a blatantly erotic gesture. Your hips are tireless, your abdomen lacing tightly as you fuck with ruthless, concentrated strokes. Your first orgasm grabbed you by the tail and yanked the beast from its cage. This time, you’re chasing satisfaction with furious deliberation. “I’ll be right behind you.”

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