She held on to my neck, the weight of her intoxicating, the kiss hard, her body alive. A desperate mewl purred in her throat, and I broke away, panting.
Another handful of minutes, and I’d have her saddled up in full. And that was not how this was going to happen, not this time.
I removed my hand from the cradle of her body, sliding it over the curve of her thigh, down the back of it until my fingers hooked her knee. Looking up at her left me stunned—her hair fell toward me in golden waves, her eyes lust-drunk and parted lips bruised from kisses.
“Please, don’t stop,” she said, her voice raspy.
“I don’t plan to.”
I scooped her up to a whoop and a giggle, striding through my living room and up the stairs, and she took that time to press tender kisses to my neck, along the line of my jaw, the dip behind my ear, the dart of her hot tongue Morse code to my cock, which strained against the confines of my pants. And when we were finally in my bedroom, the air grew heavy and thick with anticipation.
I laid her down, held close by the loop of her arms around my neck. But her gaze rested on my lips as I settled on top of her, aligning our hips, flexing to test the connection—her gasp told me I’d hit the spot. And I descended to take her lips before I took the rest of her.
My hands were occupied with the curve of her neck, down to the curve of her breast, and hers were just as busy—maybe more as they made quick work of my shirt buttons. But she stopped halfway, impatient to slide her fingers inside, seeking the planes of my chest, the ridges of my stomach.
When she broke the kiss to look down at her fingers, I rose to my knees and spread them, spreading hers. As I unbuttoned my shirt and shucked it, I cataloged every detail of her. Her red dress against the white of my sheets. Lily-white thighs slung over mine, parted to expose a sliver of her panties. Her hands riding her panting ribs, her fingertips threaded absently. Her face, framed by flaxen hair, tilted to the side. She tracked the motion of my fingers as they unbuttoned my pants, lowered my zipper.
She rose, her hands taking the place of mine, her lips connecting with my abs. I cupped the back of her neck, heart thundering as she snagged the hem of my pants and underwear and slid them over my ass, down my thighs, releasing my cock. First her hand, soft and warm around my shaft. Her breath, humid against the tip. The shock of her tongue drew my desire from deep within me, the hot chamber of her mouth the single point of awareness in my universe.
A moan rumbled through me, echoed by her. A languid lick, a slow suck. The rush of pleasure was intense and immediate, not only for the silken feel of her, but for the way she tasted me, as if I were a discovery, a wonder, and she wanted to know every bit of me as best she could.
When I finally pulled myself away, it was to lay her down, pinning her to the bed with my hips, meeting her lips as soon as they were within reach. The cool shock of air against my slick cock was gone when I settled between her thighs, resisting the impulse to move her panties out of the way and drive into her.
If I stayed there, I would. But I had other plans.
I leaned back and kicked off my pants, scanning her body, dragging my hand in the wake of my gaze. “Too many clothes,” I mumbled, flipping up the skirt of her dress, pressing my palm to the flat of her stomach, kissing the V of her neckline. And then the cumbersome dress was gone in a frenzy of hands and lips and whispering fabric.
And with a kiss that ended with foreheads joined, time stretched thin and long before stopping completely.
There was the sound of our breaths, the heave of our chests. The thumping hearts and drumming pulse. There was Maisie, soft and lovely, snowy white but for the pale of her nipples and the flush of her cheeks. And there was me, dusky and hard and nestled between her thighs. She was perfect, and not for symmetry or size. But because no one and nothing had ever been so right as she was in that moment.
It was an alignment, a clicking into place of a thing we knew was there but hadn’t seen. That rightness settled into me, occupying a space I hadn’t realized was vacant. Not until here. Not until now.
Not until her.
I kissed her both to forget what I felt and to brand the truth of it on her lips. My throat was caught in a vise, a desperate ache in my chest. A longing, not for her. A longing to keep her.
Something in her kiss told me she felt it too.
I broke away to move down her body, to ebb our connection while I still could. But she stopped me with her hands on my jaw and a crane of her neck, a stretch to capture my lips again and keep them against hers. Her thighs split wider, her hips shifting in search until she found what she sought—the aching tip of my crown, caught in the slick heat of her. With a hiss, I withdrew, putting enough space between us that I wouldn’t thoughtlessly take the invitation.
I reached for my nightstand drawer, her hands stroking my ribs, then my chest as I tore open the condom and rolled it on, kissing her. Kissing down her. Spending a long moment at her breasts, tasting the tips, learning their shape. And then my patience was lost. Hastily, I slid off the bed, dragging her to the end by her thighs. Spreading her open, touching her to find her wet and wanting. Falling to my knees to bring my lips to her, to discover the taste of her. A gentle shake of my head, buried in her heat. A lick, a lap, a suck left her impatiently tugging my shoulders, whispering my name as a plea.
A final taste, and I stood on legs weak from desire. Blindly, I gripped my base, my eyes on the rippling flesh between her thighs. A flex, and I disappeared inside her to the sound of a gasp that parted her lips, shuddered her legs.
And when I could go no further, when my heart hammered in its cage, when the whole of me drew tight, reaching into her depths, I realized that rightness had become a fact, as tangible as the heat of her body sheathing mine.
With a shift and drive of my hips, I emptied and filled her again.
A long, relieved sigh echoed in the room. I wanted to kiss her but refused to leave her warmth, rolling my hips to retreat and advance in waves. Starving eyes devoured the sight of her breasts, jostling with every drive of my body into hers. I wanted to bask in the heat of her, in the feel of her, the sight and sound and smell of her. I wanted to fuck her until she fell apart, and I wanted to love her down for hours.
Her chin lifted, her hands scrabbling at the bed for purchase, the sweet sounds of pleasure slipping out of her, sliding over me. One desire rose above all else. To feel her beneath me. To cage her in my arms where she was safe, where she was wanted, where I could keep her.
I felt the loss of her body the second I left it and found my way back inside as quickly as I could, climbing up her body, filling her up, kissing her with my palm on her neck and fingers gripping her chin. And I stayed right there, buried inside her without moving, occupying her mouth, consuming her as she’d consumed me. Pinning her with my body, a cage she couldn’t escape, and she went boneless, not wanting to.
When I pumped my hips again, it was with intent.
Our bodies fit together in such a way that I didn’t have to seek the places she needed me. With the arch of her back, the flush of color from her chest to her neck to her cheek, she whispered something I couldn’t understand. Braced herself. Tightened around me painfully, her lips stretched in a silent cry.
A gasp, and she came, drawing me deeper, deeper with every pulse, every squeeze.
Heat gripped my chest, spreading through me, overtaking me. And with a heady pull from the very depths of me, I followed her down in a blind spiral of pleasure to the aftershocks of hers.