unwilling to keep my hands off her body even for the brief moments it will take to reach the bedroom. Her breathing is rapid and her lips already swollen from my kisses. She’s still fully dressed, but I can see her nipples beading to little points of arousal underneath her sweater, and I know that when I peel off her panties she’ll be wet and ready for me.
The thought is so arousing that I curse out loud and almost stumble, but manage to turn it into a swing towards the bed, tossing her onto the mattress and scrambling to join her as she yanks her top over her head, revealing a plain white cotton bra that is somehow the most breathtakingly X-rated piece of underwear I’ve ever seen.
I want to take it slow and easy, want to explore her body with lazy touches, but I’m desperate to be inside her. I yearn for her – I always have. I ache.
And I know she feels the same way, because her laughter at her own haste as she wriggles out of her clothes turns into an urgent, ravenous moan as soon as my lips touch hers again.
There isn’t time for slow and easy. We want each other too intensely. All we can do is feel. Every glance, every gasp and moan, every caress is like a sensual blow.
Her skin is smooth and soft, a pale golden color that makes me think of the warmth of the sun against my flesh. And between her thighs, as I explore her moist sex with my fingers, it’s slick and hot to the touch. She gasps and arches against my hand, and my middle finger slips inside her. As foreplay goes, it’s so fast it’s almost like I’m a high-schooler again, knocked senseless and made clumsy by my desire for her every time I see her. But I can feel how ready she is for me. And I’ve waited so long to touch her this way. And I just can’t wait any longer.
As I move on top of her, she eagerly parts her thighs, squirming against me as I position the head of my throbbing cock against her. She runs her fingers down my back, on either side of my spine, scratching lightly with her fingernails, and as her hands come to rest on my ass, I surge inside her in a single smooth thrust. I’m rewarded with a low exclamation of pleasure, and I hear the sound echoed by my own voice. It feels so good, and yet at the same time it’s not enough – never enough.
She wraps her legs around my hips, urging me inside her, and I bury my face against the sweet-smelling flesh of her throat as I thrust inside her, clinging desperately to the last scraps and threads of my control. She rolls her hips to meet me, and I can feel her trembling underneath me as the first tremors of orgasm shudder through her. She tenses her thighs and arches towards me, breathy moans becoming raw and urgent and wild as the shocks rock her and she spasms around me.
I’m lost. I’m so lost. All I can do is let go, finding release inside her body and meeting her breathy cries of completion with my own ragged, helpless moan. It feels like I come forever, rocking inside her sweetly pulsing body and gasping for air, limbs trembling and heart beating out of my chest.
I’m enough of a gentleman to roll onto my back, pulling her with me to nestle against my chest, rather than collapsing on top of her in an ungainly heap. But it’s a close-run thing. I’m utterly spent and wrung out. She wriggles against me, finding a more comfortable position. And there’s a weird feeling in my chest, at once new and yet utterly familiar and right. It’s something I’ve chased all my life, pursuing awards and titles and scholarships and deals, and never before managed to catch hold of: This is good. This is right. This is enough.
Chapter Eighteen
DONOVAN
Last night wasn’t a dream.
Sienna Ribaldi – I mean Sienna Witlocke – is lying in my arms. A steady patter of rain drums on the roof. Beside me, my wife is stirring sleepily.
“Morning, beautiful.” I kiss her on the top of her head.
She yawns hugely and stretches. “You’re just saying that because it’s true.”
“I think honesty is important in a marriage, don’t you?” I echo her yawn and stretch, working the kinks out of my back. Then