He whimpered, a quiet, raw sound.
His eyes flew open, met mine.
Fierce.
Wild.
“Yes, Ink.” I saw it in him.
He grabbed my hips, lifted me so he nearly slipped out.
“Yes,” I gasped, tremoring with anticipation. “Yes!”
And then he drove in, and this time there was no restraint. Not hard, necessarily, but I felt him give it up, felt something inside him break.
He started moving me, lifting me up, drawing me down, meeting me with harder and harder thrusts. Our bodies slapped together, and I screamed each time our bodies touched, gasping in desperation as he withdrew.
What followed then were the most beautiful moments of my life.
He held my gaze and he let go.
He fucked me with total abandon, and it was intimate and surreal and vulnerable lovemaking, pure and wild and primal and delicate.
He surged into me, and I fell down around him, crying with the bliss of him inside me.
I came with him driving in, came around him, and in the moment of my orgasm, he unleashed. I felt him shudder, and our eyes held as he gave himself to me, nothing left inside to hold him back. Each movement was pure and liberated love.
When we finished, I fell asleep in his arms.
A day later—after we’d spent the previous twenty-four hours eating, fucking, and sleeping, and talking.
Fucking.
That’s what Rick had called it, what my brain wanted to call it out of habit.
But it wasn’t that, not anymore. This was new, this was ours.
Silly and saccharine and old-fashioned, perhaps, but I liked to call it lovemaking. Because that was the most accurate term. It was our souls joining. Our hearts merging.
Sometimes, though? It was just good plain old raw fucking.
And that was beautiful and intimate, too.
Today, though, we’d finally left the cabin. We were hiking through the forest, and I knew exactly where we were going, even though I’d never been there before.
His waterfall.
I followed him, my hand in his. He wore a shirt for the first time since I’d met him, and huge, expensive thick-soled hiking boots, and he carried a big backpack.
It took an hour or two of walking, but we reached the river about noon, and after another thirty minutes upstream we went around a bend, over a hill, and then there it was…exactly as he’d described it.
A thin river meandering through the forest, and then descending abruptly over a break in the hill, a fall of only about ten or twelve feet. It splashed down into a pool, swirling and bubbling, a picturesque, storybook setting. Surrounded by the dense forest, the waterfall roaring and splashing, it was…a spiritual place.
He sighed as we settled on the edge. “Love this place.” He looked at me. “Love being here with you. Never showed anyone this.”
“No one?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nobody.”
I smiled. “Stay here.”
I recognized this spot as the precise location of his first drawing of me, where he sat now was where he’d placed the viewpoint of that sketch.
I stood at the edge of the pool and stripped naked. Slowly, for him.
Stepped into the water, squealing in surprise—cold at first, but then warming to a tolerable temperature as I waded in. I doused myself in the spray, scrubbed my hair. My body.
I turned to look at him, intentionally taking the pose he’d drawn me in: one thigh drawn and bent against the other, an arm across my breasts. He laughed, recognizing what I was doing, and I laughed too.
“Literally making my fantasy come true,” he said.
I crooked my finger at him. “Anything else happen in your fantasy?”
He laughed. “You are absolutely insatiable, you know that?”
He shucked his clothes and stepped in, wading in up to his waist. Drawing near to me. When he reached me, I gathered him in my hands. Brought him to life.
“So.” I caressed him, eyes on his. “What’s the fantasy of this place?”
He laughed, and took my hand. “Come on, let me show you something.”
He led me to the waterfall, and we both got soaked in the plunging spray. To one side, there was a little nook. Not quite behind it, but off to the side was a patch of forest floor right up against the side of the fall. In the noise and white spray of it, wet and mossy and soft—sun peeked through, creating a million rainbows in the water.
“Here,” he whispered.
The pool swirled and bubbled, the forest stood dark and trackless beyond it, the falls a wonder of wild power. I knelt, facing the falls, standing on my knees. He moved behind me, buried his face in my neck.
Pressed up against me. Inhaled me.
I reached around behind me, took his waiting manhood in my hand and plunged my fist around him, once, twice, and he gasped at it, and I knew it was time. I pressed him to me, and he groaned.
“Bag is over there,” he muttered.
I slid my knees apart, pressed my lips to the soft part of his cheek just above his mustache and beside his nose. “I don’t care,” I whispered.
I held my breath as I nestled his thick fat round head inside me.
“I just need you,” I whispered. “Here, now. Bare.”
“Cass…”
“I’ve been on birth control for nearly a month,” I said. “I got on it the day after that talk. The last time we talked.”
He breathed a slow, tremulous breath. “Ohhh god, Cass. Are you sure?”
I sank down on him, and he groaned. “Yes,” I gasped. “I’m sure.”
He drove up, meeting me. And this time, bare, it was heaven, even more, even better, it was everything. Utterly everything.
I turned his face to mine, kissed him. We moved together, in perfect synch. “So perfect, Ink,” I said. “You’re absolutely perfect.”
“God, Cass,” he moaned, breathless. “How can something I thought was already perfect get even better?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, gasping, “but it is.”
We moaned together, gasping, moving. His hands cupped my breasts and I fell back against him, and he did everything, moved for us, and I just writhed on him, let him dictate the rhythm and speed and took all of him, took him as he gave himself to me.
“I love you, Cass,” he moaned. “I love you.”
“I love you, Ink.” I felt him shake as he moved into me. “God, I love you.”
“Cass, I’m…I have to—” a growl. “I have to come.”
“Now, Ink!” I sank on him. Drove down hard, taking him as deep as I could. “Please, now!”
“But we’re—”
“I want it like this, Ink,” I said. “I love you, I love you, that’s all that fucking matters…”
He palmed my breasts in one hand, and pressed his hand across my belly and hips and where we were joined together, pressing me against him, pinning me there.
I whispered and chanted and screamed his name as he snarled and thrust his way to climax, and this time, I felt it. Hot and wet, a powerful rush of him into me, filling me, and I came with him, his fingers helping me there, and I came around him and he moved into me and I cried to feel it, to feel us, to be bare and naked with him, filled with him, sated on him, utterly sated on everything Ink, completed by him, and in him, with him and for him.