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We’ve fucked eight times before tonight. I’ve memorized each encounter. They replay in my dreams when I go to sleep at night, wishing he were with me. All eight of those times were intense and beyond my wildest dreams. Rough, and no-holds-barred. Carnal. Passionate.
This is different. The intensity I’ve grown to love—to need—is here in spades, but the depth of our connection has never run so deep before. I’m staring into his eyes and he’s staring into mine. When I breathe out, my skin grazes his. Space doesn’t exist between us.
I love him.
And it occurs to me that the way I distilled my desires—seeking a simplistic opportunity for connection and passion—was a fool’s errand. There was no way I would find a man with both of those criteria. What I wanted all along was a man whose connection was passion, who could intrinsically link the two for me.
Gus is that man. Gus is everything.
His hand runs down the length of my front, starting with my neck and over one of my breasts. He lingers there, his hand cupping and massaging it.
“You’re a privilege, Julia. I can touch this body. Fill up your cunt. Suckle these nipples all damn day if I want. I’d pay fifty billion dollars over and over again for the privilege,” he whispers.
“I’d do it for free.” I press my forehead to his, speaking honestly. I don’t want Gus for his money or his legacy or even his unfettered interest in me. I want him because he’s objectively wonderful: intelligent, thoughtful, and passionate. What woman wouldn’t want him?
But I’m the only woman who can have him—and the thought is overwhelming and heady all at once.
His thrusts are powerful and yet careful. There are still a thousand things I wish he would share about his life, and every tilt of his hips is a promise. I’ll know more. He’ll give me more. We may have to work at this, but what relationship is devoid of effort?
We’ve come so far.
I’m getting closer, pleasure taking over. The vibrator is still inside of me, but turning it on would be too much. I crave the fullness, but I don’t need much more than Gus working me with his skillful hands and cock. His lips are at my ear, sucking on the lobe and whispering filth into it.
So tight. So fucking tight for me. Look at you taking it all. I can’t believe you can take it all. I’m so proud of you. You always impress me, Julia.
I claw at his bare back, barely in control of the moans of pleasure escaping my lips. I’m falling apart—shattering so fast—and it should terrify me, but instead I’m content and safe in Gus’s arms.
“Finish inside me,” I beg. “I want it. Please come inside me.”
He doesn’t stop his relentless motions, but he does inhale sharply. “You mean it?”
“Yes,” I grit out. “I’m so close. Please, August.”
“I’m going to come in you, Julia.”
The promise puts me over the edge. I buck when my climax strikes, overwhelming and powerful. My entire body lights up and surges with pleasure. I’m tingling and pulsating and holding on for dear life as he pushes into me again and again, never stopping.
This is a state of bliss I didn’t know existed. This is everything. This is love.
He comes with a groan, emptying into my asshole, filling me up for the first time. The slide of his release is exquisite, entirely unlike what I imagined it would be. I can feel the slick heat tingling against my nerve endings. His lips press against my neck, kissing me and murmuring praise. He pumps wave after wave inside of me. We’re a mess: sweat, saliva, tangled hair, scratch marks, and now cum. Neither of us cares.
When I finally slump against him, boneless, he pulls out of me. Gently, he guides me to my side and positions a pillow under my head before he briefly slips away. He returns with a damp towel, and once he removes the vibrator from me, he cleans me.
But when he reaches my asshole, he doesn’t use the towel. Instead, he kisses my shoulder while he shoves his fingers into me, like he’s trying to plug his cum up inside of me.
It’s erotic, filthy, and inexplicably affectionate.
Content that I’m good and filled, Gus relaxes. He strokes my bare back with his knuckles, tracing the line of my spine. We lay together, cuddling in silence for a few minutes.
Reluctantly, I shift from his grasp to head to the bathroom. He intercepts me halfway and carries me there, refusing to even put me down while he readies the shower. He stands there, holding me up with one arm as he tests the water.
When we get in together, he lathers soap over my body, taking care to clean every inch of me. I do the same to him.
After the shower, he towels me off. He grabs my robe, and I slide my arm into it.
“Thank you. It was perfect.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replies, frowning. “I just had the best night of my life. You’re not thanking me, no way.”
