a lie. I’d thought of him. Every time I’d touched myself, I’d pictured him, perched over me, fucking me harder with each grown. Every time I lay beneath someone else, I’d wanted it to be him. There’d been only a couple of men in time since he left. The first, because I thought someone else would get him out of my system, make me realize that all I really wanted was sex. It didn’t matter who it was on top of me.
But that had been a lie, because it only left me feeling empty and sad. Used. Because that man had gotten what he wanted, and I’d gotten nothing. I’d woken up that morning thinking of Landon and wishing it had been him beside me in the bed.
The second was hardly better. A drunken, messy hook up after a year of taking care of my own needs. The guy had tried hard—really hard—but it had been sweaty and awkward and unfulfilling.
Yet things with Landon were so different from those other men that it was like they’d been aliens. Aliens pretending to be men.
Landon was a real man. The only man, it seemed, who did anything for me.
He slid my skirt off with practiced ease, letting his fingertips trail over my hips and thighs, down to my toes. Instead of yanking my clothing off, he let his touch linger, let his heat build. The way his hands trailed my body was tender, intimate in a way our sex earlier today hadn’t been. Like he wanted to savor each touch. Like he wanted to memorize the curve of my body. His fingers touched the soft underside of my thighs as I parted for him, letting him settle against me.
He kissed me, his lips hot and wet, slow and sensual against mine. Our tongues slid across one another, wet with the heat of what was to come. I bit his lower lip, teasing it between my teeth, barely holding back from the desire to bite down hard.
He didn’t want tonight to be wild fucking.
Tonight, he was making love to me, worshiping my body in a way that required my restraint.
But God, it was hard to take it slow. To not bite his lip and yank his pants off, beg him to fuck me hard and fast.
I pulled him against me, my palms against his lower back, urging him to stop with the teasing and plunge inside me. But it was like he knew what I was after and enjoyed making me wait.
He pulled my shirt over my head, then lowered himself against me, so that our bodies were pressed together, so that I could feel the hard length of his cock grinding against my panties.
“You’re driving me insane,” I said, bucking my hips against him. Desperate for more contact.
In response, he pulled back, kneeling above me, propped up on his hands, too much space between our bodies. And then he just… stayed there, the picture of restraint, as I panted. Begging for him. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his gaze raking over me.
I reached out, my fingers raking across the elastic edge of his boxers. His lips curled upward. He loved that I wanted him so badly, that his patience was driving me to the brink.
And yet, he pushed my hand away, shaking his head. Denying me.
Instead, he waited at the edge of the bed, staring at me in such an intense way it nearly made me self-conscious. Like he wanted to drink his fill. He kept staring as he pushed his boxers down his hips, his cock springing to life. Kept staring as he took himself in his hand, slowly pumping up and down, his bottom lip sucked in as he teased it between his teeth.
I stayed that way, my knees open, my body exposed. And then he crawled over top of me, propping himself up on his elbows on either side of my shoulders. “I could come just looking at you,” he said, nudging my knees further apart with this.
He kissed me, slow and tender, his breathing jagged, the first clue that his restraint was not as easy as it looked. I slid my arms around his back, and his skin was hot to the touch, setting me on fire.
His lips were still on mine, his tongue sliding across my own as he plunged inside, painstakingly slow and easy. I was wet, ready for him, accepting his thickness.
Landon kept kissing me, slowly, deeply, his body picking up a rhythm my own body