disappeared behind my back when we were righted, and I heard the tear of the wrapper, felt him pull his shaft from my grip and cover it with the latex, and then, his hands were on my hips again, his eyes on mine, all the control in my hands.
I swallowed, forcing a shaky breath before I reached back again. He pulsed in my hand, hard and ready, and when I lined up the tip of him with my entrance, we both stopped.
Our breathing stopped.
Time stopped.
And I lowered, just an inch, just enough for everything in the universe to snap back into action.
We breathed a sigh of ecstasy in sync, and I lifted my hips before sliding down even farther, taking him a little more. Each time I lifted, each time I sank down on him a little more, our breathing accelerated. Noah groaned when I swallowed him whole, feeling the stretching burn from the inside out, and for a moment I just stayed there — him completely inside me, his hands bruising my hips, the moment branding my heart.
I lifted, sank back down.
Rolled my hips.
Rubbed my clit against his pelvis.
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, wrapping his arms around me as he sat up a little more. We were chest to chest, and he held one strong arm around me while the other slid up my back, his hand cradling my head and pulling it into him. He pressed his forehead to mine, closing his eyes as he flexed his hips, and I whimpered, feeling the extra inch of him I couldn’t reach on my own.
I didn’t know sex could feel like this.
I didn’t know anything in the world could feel like this.
It wasn’t a hard, pounding fuck, the way Anthony loved to take me. It wasn’t minutes of panting and then a heady, quick release and roll off of me.
This was art.
This was Noah, the painter, his hands the brushes, me the canvas.
This was me, the muse, feeling every breath of his like the fire that fueled my existence.
We were slick with sweat, rolling and slipping over each other as I rocked and he flexed, his mouth finding mine, kissing me with reverence as sighs and moans mingled between us. They seemed to dance in time with our movements — a thrust, a sigh, a flex, a kiss, a roll, a moan.
It was a beautiful waltz.
And we danced for hours.
I came again, rolling my clit against him as he flexed into me, and then he rolled us until I was on my stomach, my face in the pillows, back arched up off the bed and ass up in the air — waiting. He entered me from behind, and the sheer sensation of that new depth of penetration shocked both of us.
I sucked in a breath.
He groaned out my name.
And in the next breath, he came, pulsing his release inside the condom as he pumped in and out of me, over and over, until every drop was expelled.
For a long moment, he stayed there, balanced on his hands above me as I released my grip on the sheets. Our breaths slowed, chests aching with the release of air, and he gently withdrew, discarding the condom in the trashcan by his bed before he collapsed back onto the bed.
I didn’t have time to even reach for my panties before he pulled me into him, surrounding me with his arms, his legs, hands weaving into my hair, breath skating over the skin of my neck.
And I didn’t know how to fight what happened next.
My eyes welled with tears, nose stinging as the dam broke loose, and as soon as those tears hit Noah’s chest, he pulled back, worried eyes searching mine.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wiping at one before Noah took my place, his thumbs brushing over my wet cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“It’s okay,” he responded, voice just as low. “I do.”
My brows pulled together, eyes flicking back and forth between his. “You do?”
He nodded. “I felt it, too, Ruby Grace,” he said, pulling me back into him and surrounding me with his heat, with his weight. “I felt it, too.”
I closed my eyes, two more tears slipping free as I pulled him closer, wanting more, needing to seam us together in every way possible. It didn’t feel real, the whole experience morphing in my mind like a dream I was suddenly aware of, a dream I was about to wake up from.
So, I held on tight, willing it to be true, willing