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I giggle. “You first. You haven’t said it to me properly since the night in the hallway.”
His hands cup my face. “I love you. Are you really doing this with me?”
I nod jerkily. “I love you.”
A low growl builds in his chest, and his mouth takes back over, kissing me soundly. “I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”
“I’m just a lucky bitch.”
He smiles against my lips as his hand reaches up into my hair, and he drags my lips down to his. My breath shudders in and out as his tongue sweeps against mine. I rip at his shirt, desperate to feel his chest against mine, to have him touch me the way I know he will. And he doesn’t disappoint. The moment his shirt is gone, his mouth is back on mine, and his hands are playing with my nipples, with my piercings.
My body is on fire, flames licking up my skin, burning me from the inside out in the most delicious of ways.
“More,” I find myself begging.
“More what?” he asks against my lips, twisting my nipples until my head falls back and I moan, rubbing my clit against his jeans over his hard cock. “Do you know how beautiful you are to me? Do you know how sexy it is to watch you lose yourself on me? You make me depraved. You grind yourself all over me, and I smell my fucking pants the next day and jerk off to them, wishing I was face-deep in your pretty pussy.”
“Oh god!” I can’t control it now. I’m riding him, pushing myself higher, moving faster, harder. “Callan. Please.”
“Look at me.”
I immediately obey, and his eyes, they’re wild. “I want to fuck your ass tonight. We’ve talked about it, we’ve teased, but we haven’t done it yet. Can I fuck you there?”
I’m nodding before he’s even finished. “Yes. Please, yes.”
His mouth crashes against mine, and then he’s kissing me hard. Swirls of his tongue against mine, and then we’re moving and he’s pinning me beneath him. He continues to kiss me as he removes his pants and boxer briefs. His mouth glides down my jaw to my neck where he sucks and nips at me. I feel his thumb on my clit, rubbing me in circles, his other hand on his cock, jerking it slowly.
It's mesmerizing. The way he touches me while he touches himself. Being with him has always been more than sex. Even that first night. It was trust and exploration, and hurricane force passion. I don’t care if he’s rough. If he leaves marks on me. Hell, I crave it. Part of me even needs it, especially now. Especially with where my feelings are.
I want to be branded by him because the truth is, I need to know how real this is. How deep and how far it goes. So much of us is still fake.
He continues to kiss my neck and then down to my breasts. “Are you dripping for me, baby girl?”
He knows I am. He’s playing with my wetness as he asks.
With his hand on his cock, he rubs his head along my entrance and then pushes in. We both groan at the tight fit. At the hot feel of it. His hand cups my jaw, and with my eyes pinned to his, he starts pumping in and out of me, slowly, deeply. So slowly and deeply I can hardly catch my breath or organize my thoughts, because holy shit, does he feel good.
His grip on my jaw tightens and then he pulls out and whispers “Turn over,” against my lips.
Nervous anticipation rolls through me like a tidal wave. I don’t care how many times you’ve done this; you get nervous each time, and especially for the first time with a new partner.
I roll onto my stomach, and then climb up onto all fours. For a moment he’s silent behind me, running his palms along my ass and up my back.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asks in a low tone.
I turn my head and look at him over the angle of my shoulder. “Yes.”
“Was it with Patrick?”
My throat clogs as I answer. “Yes. Does that bother you?”
He’s staring down at my ass, and then his eyes travel over the curves of my back up to my face.
He swallows, and his jaw clenches. “Yes. I hate that he’s done this with you. I hate that I don’t have any firsts with you. I hate knowing that he—thatanyone—has even touched what I want to only ever be mine. It drives me insane with jealousy, and I hate that side of myself too. You bring out the caveman in me, cutting all my rationality out at the knees. You’re sand shifting with the tides and always slipping through my fingers.”
“But I’m not,” I tell him. “I’m yours, Callan. Nothing with you is like anything I did with him. All of this is new. All of this is my first. You are nothing like him.”
His grip on my hip tightens, pulling me back to him. His finger runs through my entrance, collecting my moisture, and then he’s ringing my asshole with it before plunging inside me there. I hiss out a breath and rock against the air, my clit throbbing and my empty core clenching.
