what she knew now. Hadn’t known about the pain that he carried around. And thinking about that spurred her on. She wanted to give to him. Wanted to thank him for everything that he’d done today. She pushed his shirt up, revealing his body. The hard ridge of his abdomen, his broad chest and shoulders. He was so beautiful. Impossibly so.
Like a gift she could never hope to earn.
He shifted, and those muscles flexed and bunched, and she felt an answering clinch echo inside of her body. Then his hands moved to the buckle on his jeans, and she helped him. As he undid his pants, she dropped down to her knees, started to pull at his boots and socks, and then tugging his jeans down all the way. He was so large and hard. So incredibly beautiful. His naked body was a work of art, and one that she would never tire of seeing. And she had never done this before, but she wanted to.
Yes, she wanted to an awful lot. She stretched up, curving her fingers around his hardness, testing the weight and strength of him.
Then she leaned in, flicking her tongue cautiously across that vulnerable skin. He tasted salty and musky, and there was something about it that made her whole body tighten with desire. It was so intimate. To taste him like this. And he was beautiful. A fantasy brought to life. She put her hand on his hip, traced the deep groove that ran from the bone there down to his thigh, bracketing the most masculine part of him. And then she took him in deep. His large hand came up and cupped the back of her head, forking through her hair. He tugged lightly, the pain sending sparks showering down through her body. It was amazing how she wanted him. Amazing the way that pleasing him ramped up her own pleasure. And she put everything into it.
For the flower boxes. For the day. For just being him. For the way that he was. He had said all those wonderful things to her. Amazing things about how she was special. And she didn’t know how to respond in kind. Didn’t know what to do or say. And didn’t even know how to say thank-you for that. So she just put it all here. She showed him. Because it was all she knew how to do. It made her feel vulnerable. To want him to feel her gratitude so much. It made her feel vulnerable that he might know how much he mattered.
She didn’t know why. Except it made her feel like she was bleeding inside. And all she could do to try to banish it was close her eyes and keep pleasuring him. His groans of desire created a deep satisfaction inside of her. Deep and wonderful.
He started to shiver. Started to shake. And then he pulled her away from him.
“Not like this,” he said, his voice rough.
“Why not?”
“I want you. Too much. I want to be inside of you.”
That harsh, guttural admission echoed inside of her, sent a thrill of pleasure through her body. He wanted her. He really wanted her. He was past the point of reason. Past the point of speaking words clearly, and it was because of her. It was because of what she had made him feel. And there was something so deeply wonderful and comforting about that something that made her feel... Fulfilled. It was beyond pleasure. It was somewhere at the center of what she was. Need. Deep and real, blooming inside of her. Inside of everything that she was. He carried her over to the sofa in the big, open space, and set her on the end of it. She was still dressed. Wearing the same floral dress that she’d had on the entire day. He reached beneath her skirt and yanked her panties down, finding her slick and ready for him. She would have been embarrassed, this display of how much she wanted him so obviously written in her body, except that he wanted her just as badly. That he was held just as captive to it as she was. Then he ducked his head beneath her skirt, tasting her.
She tried to push him away, because this wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want him to make it equal. But then, his mouth was back on her, and she couldn’t do anything to deny him. Couldn’t do anything to turn him away. Because she was lost