violent. When he pulls away, I can see the shadow of a vein on his temple, sweat on his brow, his neck corded with restraint. He’s ready to come and he’s doing what he can to hold it off.
I roll my hips up into him, tiny noises escaping from my throat each time his hands skim over my body, pinching at my breasts, tugging at my hair, his fingertips ghosting over my hips like whispers. They go everywhere but where I’m hot and swollen and begging to come undone.
“Just tell me and I’ll release you,” he says, bracing himself with his hands planted on either side of my head, slowing the pump of his hips until it becomes this slow, decadent, rhythm intent on driving me mad.
Somewhere outside my bedroom, on the street below, a bottle smashes. People laugh. But these sounds seem to come from another place. In this room, there is only Alejo. I’m starting to think he’s the only thing I focus on in each room I’m in.
Right now, I’m so focused that I can’t even think.
I can only feel.
He rocks into me, the exertion apparent on his face, his muscles straining from each and every thrust.
I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked like this. In all my forty years, there’s never been one man to be this attentive, to be this involved. Sex to me always had a barrier between me and the other person, a veil that kept me from truly committing to them in the moment. Something stopped me from being open and real. Maybe it was self-consciousness, maybe it was self-protection. Either way, I was always disconnected. I liked sex, I knew what I wanted from it and I could get myself off easily if I needed to (and, yeah, sometimes I needed to), but it wasn’t everything to me.
But now…I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but with Alejo it’s different. There is no veil, there is no wall. It’s just me at my most vulnerable with him, our bodies connected, our hearts racing at the same pace, sharing the same space.
“Come back to me,” he says, and I bring my attention to his eyes as they stare down at my eyes, at my mouth, at my breasts. His mouth is open, wet, his hair sticking to his damp forehead, and he’s the most gorgeous sight I’ve ever seen.
I try and commit him to my memory, knowing full well this is a moment in my life that I will never forget.
Perhaps it’s the moment I’m set free.
“Tell me when,” he whispers roughly, his eyes pinching closed as the pace starts to pick up.
“When,” I say softly, pulling my thighs up to wrap my ankles over the small of his waist.
His hand goes between my wet thighs and slides along me in one long wet stroke.
I am a butterfly caught in a net seconds before it finds the way through.
My body explodes into shards of light and liquid hot pleasure radiates outward, making my fingertips buzz and my toes curl and my limbs quake and shake from the violence of my orgasm.
“Alejo,” I cry out, and it sounds like the voice of a woman gone mad. I dig my nails into his ass, I keep him pumping even though the sensation is nearly too much to bear. “Oh god. Fuck.”
I am a girl dissolved.
Alejo makes a sharp grunt as his hips snap into mine, and I manage to open my eyes in time to watch him come undone, from the rigid tension in his shoulders, arms, chest, to his clenched jaw, seething out animalistic noises through clenched teeth. His eyes pinch shut and his head goes back before it falls forward, droplets of sweat falling on my rising chest, his pumps gradually slowing.
He almost collapses on me, his elbows taking the brunt of his weight at the last second, and he stares down at me with a dopey smile, smoothing my hair off my forehead.
“You gave in too easily,” he teases, his breath ragged. “I could have gone all night. In fact I will, if you just give me a second.”
I let out a soft laugh, my body full of stars and butterflies and everything delirious and happy. “You’re going to wear me out. And you really shouldn’t do that to your knee. I’m serious.”
“Yeah,” he says, kissing my nose, the corner of my mouth. “You’re always serious. How about next time you give your knees a workout, sí?”