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Her smile could cure illnesses. She beams when I take her hands, pulling her into my embrace. When I kiss her, it’s like all her nerves melt away. It’s like all my rage and uncertainty drains, too. We collapse into the passion, entirely giving ourselves to it.
When I pick her up, she wraps her legs around me like she’s been waiting for me to do this. I moan as I carry her to the bed, laying her on her back. I lie on top of her, never stopping the kissing, holding myself up as I grind my body against hers and feel her heat bursting through her clothes.
Both of us are still wearing our funeral gear. Should that make this feel wrong? It doesn’t, not even a little. It’s impossible to feel bad when Mila is making those noises, and her hands are smoothing down my back like she wants to coax even more lust and hunger out of me, not that she needs to.
It feels good to be with her like this. I don’t want to fight it even when I feel a sense of impending doom anytime I think about the future. So I don’t. I focus on us, on the now, on the taste of her lips, and the passion in the way she shifts against me.
I lean back slightly, making a small space between our bodies. There’s enough room for me to slip my hand farther and farther down her body, over her breasts, her stomach, until I come to her skirt. She opens her mouth, moaning when I slip up her leg and get closer and closer to her core.
Pushing my hand under the hem of her skirt, I stroke up her tights, feeling the heat of her bare legs beneath them. When I reach her pussy, she gasps, breaking off the kiss. The message in her eyes is clear: keep going, don’t stop, make her drenched. I rub her faster, pushing down against her underwear, feeling the thick folds of her pussy shifting beneath as though her body is chasing the pleasure.
Soon, I can’t kiss her anymore. I need to see her come. I lean back, watching her, fixated as her curvy body begins to shake and shimmer for me, her ample tits bouncing. I groan when I feel her pussy’s wetness on my hand. She must be soaked, seeping through her underwear, through her tights, like her body is telling me to take her now, but not before I see and feel her come for me.
She almost screams when the orgasm finally grabs hold of her. Her whole body shakes for me in the sexiest way. She grabs onto my shoulders, squeezing hard so that I can feel her fingernails digging into me. It’s like she can’t even imagine controlling this pleasure barreling through her.
“Oh, oh,ohhhhhhh.”
The last “ohhhh” makes my dick ache so much. My tip is leaking precome as I watch her, as I listen to the perfect mixture of tones in her moans. Part of it is a surprise, like she can’t believe I’m doing this and how good it feels. She shifts against me, her hips twitching.
Finally, the orgasm passes. Her breathing slows down, and she looks at me with a mixture of shock and a deep passion to do it again. She suddenly sits up when I grab her tights, meaning to pull them down. She shakes her head. “It’s too fast,” she mutters, but something tells me that’s not thewholereason. Maybe it’s the note of fear that flutters into her voice.
“Nothing’s too fast with us,” I growl, then slip my hand under her tights.
Oh, hell. Dammit, she’s so wet. I slide my hand into her underwear, over the folds of her lips, feeling her heat and her wetness. Sliding off to the side, I lean up so that I can massage her warm, soaked pussy while looking down at her and giving her body space to move.
“Oh, oh,oh.” She moans, then grabs my wrist, glaring up at me. “Please?—”
When I circle her hole with my finger, she cuts herself off. For a minute or more—time does funny things around Mila—she lets herself experience the pleasure. Then she digs her fingernails into my wrist.
“We can’t do this.”
“You want it. I want it.” I push against her, feeling her open for me, her lust-filled body giving me so many juices. I know I’m right; sheneedsthis.
“Maybe I do,” she snaps, pulling on my wrist. “But what about the fall?”
Bythe fall,she means autumn, three weeks, and the marriage deadline. I can’t help but think ofthe fallas us falling to pieces, our whatever we’re doing here turning to shit when she’s forced to marry my brother.
Removing my hand is difficult, but I won’t keep stubbornly touching her when she’s asking me to stop, even if I can tell she wants it. She adjusts her tights, sitting up.
“Suh—”
I interrupt her with a kiss, opening my mouth and finding her tongue. She kisses me even harder, pulling herself close to me. She can say she doesn’t want to go farther, but just kissing is enough to make her gasp in the sexiest possible way. Then she breaks it off, shaking her head even when she’s moaning. It’s like she’s trying to tell herself no, even if she wants it. There’s something so hot about that.
“Don’t saysorry,” I tell her.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispers. “Seriously, if we do this and then I have to stand at the altar, and you’re there, watching us get married … We have to wait.”
I stand up, taking a breath.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks hesitantly.
“No,” I tell her. “But if I don’t get some space, damn, Mila … I’m going to fuck your perfect, curvy body. I’m going to fuck your tight slit. I’m going to—” I cut myself off, shuddering. It’s like a fire is about to consume me. “I need to work. You’re right. We can’t do anything until we know for sure.”
When I turn away, she says, “Wait, Mik.”
I smirk, turning back to her. “Mik?”
“Doesn’t anybody call you that?” she asks, standing up and smoothing her hands down her skirt as if trying to make me even crazier by drawing attention to what I can’t have.
