is our last time. I wonder if he knows this too. I don’t think he does. I haven’t been very clear. I know I should really be honest.
“Weston,” I start off but he completely pulls me off course when he trails his soft hands up my torso and pulls off the yellow cotton fabric. As my dress falls to the floor, he smiles his trademark way-too-sexy-should-be-illegal smile.
He traces the laced edge of my bra cup with the tip of his finger so delicately, like an artist putting the finishing touches on a prized sculpture. “This needs to come off too.” He presses his mouth on mine again, and I find myself on the tip of my toes, wanting to be taller, wanting to be eye to eye with him. He trails his hands around my body, working the clasp of my bra loose with ease. He peels my white bra off slowly, sliding the thin straps over my shoulders and letting it fall to join the dress on the floor. He pulls his mouth from mine to take me in. He stares at me with wonder and I all but forget what I was going to say.
He trails his finger along the edge of my breast. “You are precious. You are my princess.”
I smile, wanting him to stop staring at me, and just take me. He has no idea how ready I am for him. “I thought I was your eager little butterfly.”
He laughs. His laughter is so soft, I can barely hear it. “That too,” he says. “But you’re being rather tame tonight, very patient,” he adds. “I’m impressed.”
I can tell he’s enjoying every second of this. He loves the dance. I love the dance too but…
He is driving me literally insane, yet again.
I pull him closer. “I’m trying very hard,” I tell him, my voice silky, playful, “but I’m struggling, to tell you the truth.”
He smiles as he pulls off his vintage t-shirt in one swift move. And I don’t take even a second to take him in. I just want to taste. He lets out a groan as I trail my tongue along his lower abs. I undo his fly and pull it all down, the jeans, the boxers, not wasting a single second. He’s just as ready as I am.
He pulls me up back to him and bites at my bottom lip. He whispers into my mouth, his breath hot. “I want to make love to you.” The words are muffled but I hear them. “No more fucking, Mirella.”
The room seems to spin as I catch my breath.
No more fucking.
He lowers me gently to the cloud of a mattress on the floor. The sheets are cold and crisp on my back, but the heat of his large body as he presses against me warms me instantly. Our mouths meet and our tongues tangle, a soft wet mess. They pull apart only to explore, every inch of skin. And then, they meet again in a frenzy. When he finally sinks into me, it feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever.
And I try to savor every second.
This is our last time.
He presses into me softly at first, his kiss tender. Soft moans escape from my mouth, my body overwhelmed by the sensation of him. He pulls his mouth from mine to look at me. It feels so intimate. He likes to see me, hear me, feel me. I can barely look back, under the intensity of his stare. But soon, as he presses into me softly, over and over, as the pleasure grows and the tension builds, I feel my body tense, getting antsy…wanting more.
More.
I look into his eyes. “H-harder,” I plead, the word escaping in a wail.
His eyes seem so dark when he says, “I don’t want to hurt…”
“You won’t.”
He pushes into me harder, and I cling hard, legs wrapped tightly around him. “Harder,” I keep crying. I hate sounding so desperate, like an animal in heat. But every cell of me wants him to make me come. His body is sticky and hot, the muscles of his arms hard against the palm of my hands. I throw my head back as he pulls at my hair, losing control.
I close my eyes as he brings me there, like I knew he would.
I cry out into the stillness of the large empty room. And he groans loudly as he catches up to me, the beautiful sound of his climax unheard for the longest time, but so