removing his own before he was hovering over me again, propped up on his elbows as he slid his hands up my arms, lifting them over my head. He pinned me like that, kissing my temple, my ear, my neck. His tender mouth was at odds with the possessive way he held my arms down.
I was panting for him, squeezing him closer with my legs, desperate to feel him inside me. He was wearing boxer briefs, but the thin layer of them and my panties wasn’t enough to mask the hard ridge of his cock, pressing into me. Frustratingly close, but it wasn’t enough.
His hips ground down on me, and he moved against me, the friction causing me to moan as my back pressed into the rug. I writhed against him, my hands still pinned over my head, utterly useless. I wanted to touch him.
I wanted to taste him.
“I want you,” he whispered, his voice husky, making me throb with my own want.
I looked at him, unsure for just a moment. “What if—”
He kissed my mouth deeply, stopping my questions, his tongue pushing in and linking with mine before he broke away again. “No what if’s,” he said firmly, digging his hips into mine as I moaned.
He was right.
No what if’s. I wanted to live without them for once, to just let go and be free of all of the baggage that had weighed me down these last three years.
He clasped my wrists together in one hand, then moved the other, dipping lower, twisting the ribbon-thin line of my underwear in his hand. It pulled tight against my hip, until the fabric gave way, breaking in his hand.
And then he shoved it down my other thigh, leaving me bare, exposed to the air and him. He nudged my thighs, pushing my legs father apart as he moved upward, until his cock--still covered by his boxers—rubbed against my clit.
I groaned again, arching against him. Desperate for more.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, his breath hot in my ear as he ground against me, harder now.
“I want you,” I said, twisting, pulling at my arms. I wanted him to let me go, if only so I could shove his boxers down, take him in my hand and guide him inside me. “Please,” I whispered, clenching my legs to force him even closer.
“Please what?” he asked, kissing his way across my neck, his breath coming out as ragged as my own.
“I need you,” I said, again. I wanted to hate him for doing this, for making me writhe below him, begging for his cock, but I couldn’t.
Because I wanted it too much.
“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, his cheek close to mine as he teased my ear between his teeth. Fire roared through me.
“Yes, I want you. Now.”
He hesitated, and my mind cleared just enough to say more.
“I’m on the pill. Please, just fuck me.”
His groan was deep and guttural, and for a moment, I thought he might resist. I thought he might pull back, leave me there panting on his living room floor, wet and wanting.
Leave me wondering what it would be like to have him inside me—just like he’d done years before when we’d come so close but never gone all the way together.
Instead, he leaned on an elbow, just enough to push his boxers to the floor. But he was still in that crisp, pressed white button up, his ass naked, his cock erect and pressing against me.
“Are you sure?” he asked, taking himself in one hand. He waited, leaning back, teasing it back and forth on my slit. Waiting for permission.
Waiting for the green light to plunge inside me, in the way I’d dreamt of for years.
“Yes,” I said, finally yanking one hand free of his grasp. My hand trailed down the muscular curve of his back, until I could cup his ass and pull him against me. “I want you,” I said.
He repositioned himself over me, his cock at my wet, slick entrance. I curled my legs around his hips, as if to hold him, as if to be sure he wouldn’t retreat.
I needn’t have worried. He pushed in with one deep, strong thrust, and then stilled.
I gasped out, a wave of pleasure flooding through me as he filled me. He was so thick and full I wasn’t sure I could take any more, but as he withdrew, the aching emptiness was too much. I pulled him back against me with my legs.
He thrust forward, and then