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Every lick brings me closer, winds me higher as I’m rocking against his face. I grasp for his hair. Realizing it’s too short to hold on to it, I put both hands on his head. His caress is delicious torture, making me feel parts of my body no one has ever touched before.
“Jack, I’m close . . .”
“That’s right, come all over my tongue. I want to lick you up,” he snarls, drawing a rough breath in.
I’m standing on the precipice, so close to bursting. Another lick, and I’m in flames. I buck against his face, but he doesn’t stop rubbing my clit. The spasms continue for a long time, and I still want more. The heat, his body, his muscles, his cock.
He grabs his pants and pulls out his wallet.
“You will have to go on birth control. But for tonight, this will do,” he says, pulling out a condom and sliding it on.
Then he leans his large body over me, pushing my legs apart, his hips meeting mine. I’m spread open, shivering, feeling his cock at my entrance, thick and pulsing.
He pushes in slowly at first, inch by slow inch. Pain ripples through me, and I’m gasping.
“Relax. I want to be all the way inside of you.”
Then he pushes forward, more than I thought was possible, until he is in me to the hilt.
He pulls back out, then thrusts in again.
“More,” I whisper, and he nods as he does it again. He’s at my very core, deep inside me. Despite the pain, I love that it’s him who is doing this to me.
He reaches down for my clit and runs circles around it.
I feel full, and there is still that burn between my legs, but also a blissful ripple. He pulls back and pushes in again, my back arching and my toes curling.
“Look at me when I’m fucking you,” he growls, his thrusts slow and controlled. “You’re mine now.”
At his words, it’s as if he set fire to the rain. That is all I wanted from the first moment he held me in his arms, after saving me from that bear. He is pushing me over the edge with the rocking of his body above me. I’m liquid, and on his next thrust, I’m falling apart. He grabs my hips, pushing, pulsating, until he is groaning and falling over me.
When he pulls out, there is cold and emptiness, and I lie on his chest, breathing hard.
12
BROWNSTONE BLISS
The sun dancing on my skin wakes me, a warm body curled in my arms. Maddie’s leg is wrapped over me possessively, her head tucked into my pit.
My heart, be still.
Unable to look away, I will the moment to never end. She is equal parts sweet and seductive. I let my eyes roam her from the dip of her waist to the delicate curve of her neck. Her hair is splayed across my pillows, sunlight dancing over her auburn strands. The way the rays fall through the windows, it must be late in the morning. By the time we fell asleep last night, it was already dawn. Sated, we passed out in each other's arms. Now I feel pride that I’m the one who made her feel this sleepy and safe.
And still, I can’t believe I have Maddie Emerson, the lush, gorgeous goddess, tucked against me with total trust.
Slowly, to not wake her, I extract myself from her embrace. I pull on boxer shorts and a T-shirt and head downstairs. The remains of last night's dinner are still spread under the crystal chandelier. China, cut crystal glasses, and polished silverware are scattered among half-eaten plates.
At some point in the night, ravished from fucking, we sat on the sofa, feeding each other the food Elena made for us, the conversation flowing, helped by a bottle of Malbec.
She told me of her picture-perfect Jersey childhood, her loving but firm parents, older sister Grace, her voice of reason, and little Aria, the creative spark plug. She told me about her mom bringing the sisters to dance lessons. Aria, one, her, nine, and Grace, sixteen. I had to laugh hearing how they put on performances for their parents on Saturday nights.
It was so different from the way I grew up with an emotionally distant father, a mother I don’t even remember, boarding school, and high expectations throughout.
In return, I told her about Navy SEAL training, the parts everyone is curious about but leaving out the gruesome bits of my recent captivity.
“It's designed to push you to breaking point and past it. Eight out of ten don't make it through Hell Week. But the guys who do forge bonds closer than blood,” I’d told her.
I make quick work of tidying up the dirty dishes and throwing out the leftovers, not wanting Elena to find this mess on Monday morning.
