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Morning with Weston meant warm kisses and silky caresses. He was taking care of my body without much effort from me. Sleepy orgasms and the most delicious lazy fuck. It was perfect.
Addictive.
My face was buried in my pillow, fingers curled into the sheets.
“Pretty girl, I need more days waking up like this.” Weston’s face was next to mine, his chest against my back, hips between my spread legs as he leisurely slid in and out of me.
“How many times do you think I can be inside you before we fly home tomorrow?” he whispered beside my ear. “Every spare minute I have, I’m going to spend either inside you or eating you, baby.”
I smiled into the pillow. “As long as you leave some time for me to suck you.”
He grunted, slamming into me with more force. “You really love sucking cock, don’t you?”
“Your cock, West. I love how you feel on my tongue. Almost as much as when you’re inside me.”
The groan that he emitted came from somewhere deep in his chest. “Oh fuck, Elise. How are you so perfect? Your pussy feels like it was custom made for me, and your dirty little mouth says exactly what I want to hear. I’m not gonna want to give you up.”
“You have me now,” I murmured.
He pressed into me, putting more of his weight on my back. The mattress was soft, so we sank together, one writhing, rolling form. Weston’s mouth only left me to whisper dirty things in my ear.
Our bodies slapping together echoed off the walls. As time passed, no end in sight, Weston’s skin heated mine, our perspiration mingled, and we slid easily against each other.
He was so thick and long, filling me, stretching me, rubbing the spots he’d made tender inside me. The dull pain only served to highlight the pleasure coursing through me.
Lazy didn’t mean delicious. Languid didn’t mean he hadn’t woken every one of my nerve endings. Weston knew how to fuck, and his skills were catered to me, down to his breath on the back of my neck.
I shuddered beneath him, an orgasm rolling through me from nowhere.
“West,” I cried weakly. “I need you so much.”
“That’s it, baby.” He swiveled his hips, grinding into me. “I’m here. Take what you need.”
I whimpered and rubbed my face into my pillow as my inner walls fluttered around him. He grunted beside my ear, desperation tinging the guttural sound.
“Come for me, West,” I coaxed. “Let me feel it.”
Rearing back to his knees, he took hold of my hips, lifting them from the mattress. Languid slipped into heated, wild pounding. His hips slammed into my ass, fingers digging into my flesh. My nails scrabbled against the sheets, and my head tipped back from the pillow as the orgasm he’d given me spiraled into another.
My moans were hoarse and loud, drowned out by the sounds of our fucking and Weston’s frenzied grunts.
He pushed in deep, so deep, my eyes flew open, and I nearly screamed at the raw, needy feel of him hitting the end of me. He stayed there, pulsing, bellowing my name. I panted and thrust back.
I was floating.
Hot and sticky.
So, so satisfied.
Weston didn’t make me love my body, but when we were together, the switch that made me hate parts of it flipped off. His mouth and fingers and cock, the way he looked at me and said filthy things to me, stripped me of my insecurities and allowed me to be nothing more than a sexual, sensual being.
It was exactly what I needed right now.
How was I supposed to give this up after tomorrow?
We were up and dressed, ready to leave for the day, Weston sharp and intimidating in his sleek suit for his meetings with his Asian supply managers, me outdoorsy and athletic in my leggings, T-shirt, and Andes fleece vest for my rock climbing adventures.
Weston frowned at me. “I’m not happy about this.”
