“Oh god, Jo,” he breathes, his voice ragged. “God, I’ve missed this.”
I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and cling to him and move with him and pull him closer and press up against him and sink him deeper into me. I’ve never felt so complete, so perfect, so happy.
I’m crying. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I breathe, I sob. To Westley? To God? To both. “I love you, I love you, I love you—God, I love you.”
His thrusts become frantic. He buries his face in the side of my neck and groans as he reaches climax. My name grates from his throat, and I feel him fill me, his hips rocking against mine, rolling his manhood into me again and again, deeper and deeper until I can take no more of him and we cannot become any more united and I climax with him, feeling my soul and my heart bind to his, weave into the fabric of him, the texture of him.
Even after our climaxes have faded, we move together and gasp together, his erection fading inside me, my core clenching and clamping around him.
“I love you, I love you,” he gasps. “My god, my Jo.”
He collapses against me, and I cradle him to me, caress his hair and his shoulders. I nibble the shell of his ear. “Marry me, Westley Britton.”
He rolls, and I’m on top of him. Our hands tangle, palm to palm, fingers twining, and I see my grandmother’s ring on my left hand, and a fresh wave of wild, unadulterated joy sears through me.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says. “Do you want me to tell you about it now, or remain surprised?”
I scoot backward to sit on his thighs. I feel his seed inside me, warm and wet and seeping out of me. “I don’t know. Do you think I’d rather know now or be surprised?”
He shrugs. “I think maybe you’d like to be surprised.”
“Then leave it a surprise.” I gnaw on my lip. “I need to go clean up.”
He topples me playfully to my back. “Let me.”
He returns with a warm, damp washcloth, gently parts my folds and cleans me. Takes care of the washcloth and settles back into bed beside me. For a while, we just look at each other, smiling, almost laughing, noses nudging, on our sides and knees touching.
I can’t go very long without touching him, however. I wriggle closer. Press him to his back and caress his chest, his stomach. His manhood is at rest, curled to the side over his hip bone. I trace it with a finger, slowly, tip to base. He watches as I touch him, doesn’t move otherwise. Gradually, he begins to respond to my touch. A subtle stiffening at first, then a slow, visibly thickening. I don’t hurry, just drag my finger from the plump head to the curls-wreathed base. Now it’s hardening, lengthening. It uncurls, straightening to reach full erection.
I sling my thigh over his belly, rise up on my knees. Grasp him and nestle his tip against my opening. His hands rest on my hips and hold me, but provide no pressure, no guidance. His eyes burn into mine, expression and open and heated and frank and appreciative of my naked body, my curves, my skin—me. I sink down onto him, and he splits me apart as he slides into me. I feel my sex respond instantly, pulsing, rippling. I grind against him, back and forth and then in circles, and then I have to have more. I brace my hands on his chest and lean forward, flex my hips to thrust onto him. Slow. Deliberate. Each thrust a full range of movement, his erection sliding through my clamping sex, head to base in a stuttering slide of hard arousal through wet, slick folds.
He’s breathing hard within mere moments, gasping, groaning. Thrusting up to meet my movements.
And then I can’t merely roll my hips anymore. No more slow finesse. I need the wildness. The abandon. I crash down against him, surge forward and upward, belly and breasts scraping rough against his hard muscles. Faster, harder. Wilder. I groan, and then groans turn to half-feral growls, and he’s taking over the thrusting, hips hammering upward to meet me with a clap of flesh against flesh as I push with desperate abandon downward, taking him into me with a crying scream. Release detonates within me, an unfurling burst of heat in my belly expanding outward and becoming a chest-cracking, heart-rending explosion. I feel him join me in climax, and he’s yelling wordlessly and I’m screaming and he’s surging into me and filling me with hot jets of seed and I’m clamping around his pulsing erection and our gasps are synched, our groans are in unison, and our bodies meet in writhing, sinuous, sensual ecstasy.
There’s only us in this universe. Only this moment. Only our bodies, our souls.
We rest, and we wake in darkness and find each other.
Pain is forgotten. Fear is banished.
There is only us, and our impossible love, our unlikely romance.
With This Ring, I thee Wed
Westley
She sleeps late. I wake up hours before her, but remain in bed with her, dozing, enjoying her presence, her scent, her warmth, the softness of her skin under my hands, against my flesh.
She stirs. I nuzzle her breast with my nose.
Her hand brushes my belly, and her fingers curl against me. She rolls into me, half awake, now, a smile edging across her lips as she tangles her limbs around me.
“Mmmm,” she murmurs, a wordless expression of sleepy happiness. “You’re real. This is real.”
“Yes indeed.”
“I was panicked for a second, there, right before I actually woke up. I was so scared I’d wake up and it would all have been a dream. That I’d be back in the hospital and I’d still have leukemia.” She presses her nose into my throat, lips pressing in a soft kiss to my Adam’s apple. “I can’t even begin to describe how happy I am that it’s real.” A pause, and I can hear the grin in her voice. “That last night was real.”
“Oh, it was real all right.” I kiss her head, her temple, her cheekbone. “It’s the first of a lifetime together.”
She writhes against me. “I know it’s real because I’m a little sore.”
“We did make love like four times.”
“And I still want you.” She grasps me.
I laugh and pull away. “If I didn’t have your surprise waiting, I’d already be inside you. But if let you start that up right now, we’ll spend the morning having sex instead of what I have planned. And in this particular case, I think you’ll want to do what I have planned.”
“Just real quick?” she whispers, stroking me.
I groan, responding immediately and fully to her touch and the sensual, erotic need in her voice. “God, Jo.”
We’re on our sides, facing each other. Her eyes are still sleepy, but sparking with heat.
I push her to her back, and she moves to take me on top of her, but I have other plans. I roll her away from me, and press up behind her. She cranes her neck around, lips hunting for mine as I hook my hand behind the knee of her upper leg. She grasps me and guides me to her seam, and I touch her sex, find her sweet slit wet and waiting for me.
She gasps as I press myself against her. “Wes, god, yes. Please. I want you inside me. I can’t get enough of you.”
I lift her leg up and away, catch hold of her breasts and fill her, feel her tight sex clenching around me. I sink deep, groaning at the wet soft heat of her as she accepts me, deeper and deeper, and she’s writhing against me, silently begging me for more.