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I try to slip down onto him, and his fingers dig into my legs, holding me off him.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, flipping us.
His mouth moves down my body, over my breasts, sucking my nipples until I’m writhing, over my stomach and my thighs, down my calves.
“You’re enjoying the stargazing too much?” I tease breathlessly.
“Nah. Let them envy us for a change.”
He swallows my laugh as he presses inside me. The moment he does, my humor is eclipsed by something bigger, more profound.
Being connected to him like this, face-to-face, chest to chest, him as deep in me as he’ll go, is the closest I’ve felt to another person. We’re so different and so similar, and the contrast is the most fucking exquisite thing I’ve ever experienced.
My breath mingles with his as his hips pin mine. He rocks inside me, each stroke a chord he’s devoting himself to, part of a song he’s been writing forever. One I’d trade eternity to listen to.
I want to draw it out. I need to. But the dreamy haze has its own mind, and it drags me toward a crest I can’t fight off. Not even when I wrench my mouth from Tyler’s, our lips brushing as we gasp.
“I’m close,” I whisper, and his half laugh in the dark makes my heart explode.
“I know.”
I know.
He knows me. He knows my body, my mind, my heart. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s that thought that has me crying out, arching shamelessly against him as if I can draw out every sensation between us, make it a little brighter, a little bolder, a little longer.
He stills inside me, his shoulders flexing, his ass clenching under my calves wrapped around his hips. When he says my name in that beautiful, raw voice, it sends me spinning.
I lock my limbs around him as we tremble together. It’s an ode to us.
To yesterday, to today, to always.
