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“You caught me,” she manages to say amid heavy breaths, her expression teetering between shock and admiration that I can’t figure out. This is what she wanted. This is what she asked for. So, why is she so surprised?
I’m about to release her arm when she flies forward, colliding with my body so hard I teeter backwards. Immediately, she kisses me, her hands tugging on my hair and holding it in firm fists until it hurts.
I kiss her back just as hard, savoring the taste of her plump lips that I’ve craved for days. I wanted all of this. All of her. The sensation of her body, soft along her curves and tight everywhere else. The warmth of her skin and her breath. Her flowery scent. The involuntary moan she releases when my hands grip her arms.
With a hop, she wraps her legs around my waist and nearly climbs me. Hands on my shoulders, she dangles off of me, small in my arms and yet still all-consuming.
And she thrusts. The unmistakable roll of her hips, previewing the motions of fucking, makes me nearly frantic. I charge up the stairs, holding her close, refusing to stop kissing her. My bedroom is the last door at the end of the hall, and right now it feels like it’s a mile away.
When I burst in, the door creaks on the hinge and I know I’ll have to repair it in the morning. The damage is worth it though when I drop Julia onto my bed. She bounces when she lands, her golden hair flowing around her and haloing her, making it seem like I’m about to fuck a goddess.
She stares up at me, outright licking her lips like she desperately needs any residual hit of my taste that lingers. It’s so subtle and yet so sexy.
I strip my sweater off and throw it to the side, taking a moment to steady myself. “Safe word?” I ask her, forcing myself to wait.
Once I ask, she knows it’s finally going to happen. “Paris,” she responds, excitement alight in her big brown eyes.
The word may as well be a starter pistol. We both fumble to grab the hem of her dress. We grapple to see who can get it off her, and it ends up being me. I strip her bare, tossing the dress to the side and leaving her lying on the bedspread and looking up at me—naked. No bra, no panties. That’s how she came downstairs for dinner: ready to be fucked.
I’m still clothed in jeans and my undershirt, and I’m tempted to stay that way. It gives me a dark rush to have her naked and exposed while I’m fully-dressed—a power imbalance. But I can see her tracing the muscles and lines of my arms, and I want to prove to her that I’m anything but past my prime.
My shirt goes first. I discard it somewhere across the room and take in the astounded expression on Julia’s face. Her eyes rake over my bare chest and abdomen.
Enjoy, love.
I’ve always stayed in shape because fitness is an easy differentiator between me and other men. It’s an intimidation factor—a sign of my drive and willingness to spend countless hours in the gym getting bigger and more powerful. It’s yet another barrier between the rest of the world and me.
Plus, I look fucking great.
“Not bad,” she murmurs, breaking the silence, her gaze consuming me.
I let out a scoff, but I don’t challenge her. It’s obvious she’s negging me, as usual. More games. We’re both aware I look like a goddamn stallion, even if she won’t say it aloud. The way she eye-fucks me is testament enough.
Ready for her, I slide my jeans off my legs and then climb over her. We kiss. Her tongue probes mine, working through heavy breaths that preview her neediness. Tonight, her kiss is more exploratory than in London. Back in London, we were drunk and impatient. Anxious. Now, Julia kisses me like she’s enjoying the dessert at the end of a long meal, indulging in every bite and moaning with satisfaction.
I break the kiss, inciting a brief whimper of disappointment before I swoop down to bring her nipples into my mouth. One and then the other, alternating a few times to get them good and wet. The pearled tips of her breasts fit so nicely between my lips, I could imagine myself worshipping them every night, bringing out the desperate gasps and groans she releases when I suck mercilessly on them. Whenever my mouth is on one nipple, she works the other, roughly massaging her own breast with her entire hand, showing me how I’m allowed to handle them—hard, apparently.
When I raise my head, Julia’s plump breasts glisten under the bedroom lights, looking swollen and pink. Lovely. Sexy, yes, but also indescribably lovely. She drips with supple femininity, soft and so lush. Tenderly, I kiss the underside of one breast, dragging the tip of my tongue along the curve until she shivers.
“More,” she pleads.
Palming her breasts with both hands, I slide down the length of her front—and I lick her skin the entire way until I’m able to layer kisses on her bare pussy lips.
“No,” she objects hastily, stopping me right before I can taste her from the source.
“No?” I manage to make eye contact through the deep valley between her nice breasts.
She shakes her head vigorously. “I’m too sensitive, and I refuse to come without you inside of me.” She wiggles out of my grasp to kneel at the end of the bed. “Sit.”
I refuse to come without you inside of me.
I deserve a medal and a commemorative statue for keeping it together and not just plunging into her after hearing her say those impossibly perfect words. She really is worth billions. Tonight, I had every intention of fucking the attitude out of her. Now, I want to give her the best night of her life.
“Sit,” she repeats with clear impatience, nodding her head towards the foot of the bed.
“Fuck off.” It’s my gentlemanly way of reminding her she’s not in charge. But I do sit. Anything to give her what she needs.
She glows when she gets her way, and I can’t help but admit she’s adorable when she smiles. Her entire face brightens and her cheeks round out to make her look uncharacteristically soft.
