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“You make me feel so fucking greedy,” I whisper, suddenly serious. I put my mouth to her breast and suck over the lace. “I don’t know whether I want to fuck you or wear you like you’re my favorite cologne.”
“Oh.” Her eyes shutter closed under the weight of her pleasure, her hot walls tightening as she chases her peak. It’s a beautiful thing to behold, to witness. But as much as I want to watch her, I also want to be seen.
“Look at me.” My body arcs over hers, the difference in our heights so much more pronounced thanks to her bare feet.
Her eyes spring open, and in the depths of her gaze, for a moment, I see everything. Our truths. How neither of us will leave this experience untouched. I see our histories. The girl she was and the woman she’s become, quietly fierce and strong. She blinks, and the sentiment changes, and what I see is longing, the moment a convergence.
“Clara.” My tone seems to ache. “Look at what you’re doing to me. You drive me so fuckin’ crazy,” I admit, playacting falling by the wayside. “I am too old to be making myself come in the shower when your hot little body is just a few feet away and dying for this.”
“You . . .”
I press my mouth to hers, the kiss truly decadent. “You like the sound of that, huh? Me fucking my hand while you lie in my office, sleeping.”
“I imagine it,” she whispers hotly. “Imagine the sound of the water and opening the door. The look on your face as I drop to my knees.”
Her admission detonates inside me, an erotic montage flashing across the walls of my brain. “Do you touch yourself, Clara? Do you play with this pretty little pussy while thinking of blowing me?”
“Please.” The plea is almost breathless as I taste her whimpers. As I demand.
“Tell me.”
She licks her pink, kiss-swollen lips, the sight so intoxicating. “Yes, I touch myself.”
“Why are we doing this to ourselves?” I almost lament.
“Troy, I need you.”
“Tell me how—how you need me, baby.” I sink my fingers deep inside her, and she cries out as I hold her on that precipice.
“I need to feel you, Troy. Feel every part of you against every part of me.”
Her admission pulls at me—pulls at my heart—as she reaches for my belt. And I let her. Button, zipper, the way she quickly swipes her panties down her legs. There’s no slow striptease or finesse, just haste as she reaches behind, loosening her bra.
I suck in a breath at the sight of her, all curves and contrasts. Her tiny waist and the flare of her hips. The fullness of her breasts, her milky skin and those eyes as dark as sin.
Condom. I begin to turn, the motion is aborted by her hand on my bicep. “My wallet,” I begin to explain.
“I haven’t had sex with anyone else in over a year.” My whole body goes taut with suppressed desire. “I’m safe. I know you wouldn’t put me at risk.”
I’d rather tear out my heart, I think as she slips her arms around my neck.
Skin to skin, I take my cock in my hand, my jaw tightening as I line myself up. Her breath holds as I push inside.
Oh, God, the sensation of her body accepting mine is everything. The past, the present, everything we were and are now coming together in one exquisite moment. Palming her ass, I hold her there, absorbing the beauty of our fit. Raw. Bare. Eyes drinking the other in. I drive inside her again. Clara moans and I inhale it, our mouths meeting messily, need turning wild as my hips flex and my hands tighten in their hold. I want to rule her. Dominate. I want to share this obsession, this pleasured pain. She’s so fucking beautiful, my Clara, her body pressed to mine so ripe and full. If I live to hold her for a hundred years, I’m not sure it will be enough.
“Harder,” she demands. And I deliver, the pulse of her body making my wits unspool.
“I’m going to make you scream.” I punctuate my words with my thrusts. “Make you feel me inside you all week.”
“Yes, Troy. Yes!”
“Louder, Clara. Shake the fucking walls.”
She begins to thrash and twist, those first ripples of awareness run through her, through me, like a live wire.
“You’re so fucking sweet. Ripe, like a fucking peach.” My mouth finds her ear. A hot swirl of tongue, and her walls, they clench. I can’t get deep enough, can’t feel enough. “That’s it.” The hot, tight pulse of her almost robs me of breath. “Come for me, Clara. Fucking come for me.”
She’ll leave her mark on this place—her mark on me—then she’ll leave.
