Page 64 of Sterling Clay

My mouth on his cuts him off. While the transition was rough, we quickly melt into one another, sharing a kiss that’s hotter than any I’ve ever experienced. I press into Clay’s chest, hands fisted in his shirt, and lift one leg to his hip. His hands clasp my backside, and he squeezes tight, tugging me harder against him, like he did last night. Standing here in his hallway, I can’t get close enough to him.

Watching him interact with Dutton, with patience, kindness, and compassion, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. And knowing Dutton does not tell anyone he loves them except for me, I’m at a loss for words. The only way I can tell Clay what he means to me is to show him.

When I pull back, I remember the baseball game still has a few more innings.

“Baseball or bedroom?” I ask, prepared to wait for the end of the game.

“What’s baseball?” Clay teases, setting his hands on my hips and guiding me backward into his bedroom.

With a gentle kick of his foot, his bedroom door closes, but doesn’t click shut, leaving space to hear Dutton if he needs us.

He won’t. Son up to son down. He was probably zonked out before we hit the hallway.

Still clutching Clay’s shirt, I spin us and push him, releasing his flannel and watching him fall to the bed. Realistically, I don’t have the strength to move him around as I have, which means Clay is allowing it to happen. Letting me take control. Giving it to me.

With him on his back, I climb over his body and straddle him, then lean forward for another toe-curling kiss. I never knew it could be like this. A man loving my son. A man adoring me.

“Make love to me,” I murmur against his mouth. “Take your time with me.”

As if Clay reads my mind, he flips us so I’m on my back. His hand coasts down my neck, over my breasts to the hem of my shirt. From that first lift of clothing, he savors each removal, placing lingering kisses on each part of me revealed, like I’m a treasured gift. He kisses my belly, sucks at my hip, and hums between my thighs when he takes off my jeans, pulling down my underwear at the same time. Eventually, I’m naked while he’s still dressed, and he coasts his palms over my skin. He massages some places, explores others, as if discovering parts of me he hadn’t before.

The backs of my knees are ticklish. The spot where my neck meets my shoulder is sensitive. The nape of my neck receives extra attention and I’m a squirming mess of desire once he’s kissed every inch of me.

“Clay.” I breathe out his name. “I need you, honey.” I don’t think I’ve ever needed anyone more. Not for him to save me but for him to give me this moment. To show me what being loved might feel like.

“You’re stunning.” Clay slides off the edge of the bed, his hand trailing along my midsection before he stands. “I don’t know that I’ve ever used that word to describe someone. But you define the term, butterfly.”

Giddy tears threaten my eyes. I’ve never been so happy that I could cry until this, until Clay.

I watch, unabashedly, as he strips, taking his time to tease me with the removal of each article of his clothing. Once he’s naked, he climbs over me again. He knows I want control, which means I should ride him, but I want him to cover me. I want to feel him surround me, so I reach for his hips and gently tug him down.

“You’re still in control,” he reassures me. “But I’ll take the lead on this one.”

“You do that,” I softly tease and chew my lower lip. The sass earns me another kiss while he slides his lower half between my spread thighs. The tip of his dick rests at my entrance but still we kiss for another minute.

Clay brings his hand to my chest, covering my racing heart. “There’s this moment. When I’m just outside of you. And my heart hammers with anticipation.” He presses up on his other arm, his tip still lined up with where I’m sensitive and eager for him.

“And then, I enter you.” He nudges forward, spreading me, opening me, taking his time to glide into me. “And my chest nearly bursts. I’m so full from how I feel about you.”

As he fills me to the hilt, he pauses and slides his hand down my arm, snugging his fingers between mine, until we are holding onto each other. He brings our collective hands above my head, and moves his hips, dragging out to the edge before gliding in again. Back and forth he moves, the rhythm slow.

My opening stretches around him. His body blankets mine. We are one in the way only two people can be, and the transformation he predicted for me happens.

I’m awakened in a new way. I feel Clay’s emotions for me in every move, every measured thrust, every teasing drag. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Him. Me. Us. This lazy pull to follow his lead, to hold him tight, to never let go. My skin prickles. My body heats. My limbs wrap around Clay in every way I can, like a caterpillar clings to a twig.

Only Clay is stronger than flimsy wood. He’s solid. Salt of the earth. Sexy in ways other than the physical. And I’m attracted to him on every level. His body. His mind. His heart.

My staggered moans turn to desperate groans as Clay slowly picks up the pace, dipping harder into me, moving faster with me. Our hips tap, pull back, then like magnets come together again. With my ankles over his calves, and one arm around his neck, our hands are still clasped above my head. I cling to him.

And then it happens. That fluttering sensation. That ripple effect. The gentle tear through my body, opening me wide and blazing through my center.

“Clay,” I whimper as I come apart, ripped like a seam, and then sewn back together into something new, something beautiful. I feel beautiful in this moment. Stunning. Like the sunshine seen for the first time. Or the glow of moonlight across inky waters.

I have hope.

Clay is hope.

“Mavis.” My name is said with wonder. He watches where he enters me. His dick slick. My body willingly taking him into me. His hips thrust harder.