If It Makes You Happy(105)

I tuck my opposite thumb around the fabric of her underwear, tugging it to the side and tracing my middle finger along the outside of her. She’s warm. So wet already, practically dripping down my knuckles.

It’s been so long since I’ve made a woman come. I want it so bad that I can taste it. I want Michelle so bad that it hurts. I slowly curl two fingers inside her as her head falls back. The column of her neck is gorgeous against the dim light. A silhouette of beauty in the palm of my hand.

I pump my fingers inside, searching for every exhale, every tense movement, every piece of her she’ll allow me. And she grants me so many.

Her throat bobs in a swallow. Her knees on either side of me shake. She lifts up and lowers down, grinding on my fingers, pushing down as I pulse in. I twist my thumb to trace over the outside of her, and she bucks against it, pulling her lower lip in.

She’s so close. I can feel her tightening, and, God, I want to watch. She’s quiet, whining through it all. Too quiet, but that’s a problem for later. With a hitched breath, her thighs tense around me, her palm grips my shoulder, and I can see her eyebrows pinch in the middle as her mouth opens as she releases.

Her chest is rising and falling. Her mouth, open wide and exhaling. When her eyes meet mine, I try to exist with her, stuck in space with her. Floating in her orgasm as long as she needs.

Steadily, shakily, she reaches out to pull down my boxers, releasing my already weeping cock to bob against my thigh. I scoot up the couch. She rises onto her knees again, tremors running through each movement. I grip myself and position the tip directly against her, rubbing a line over her smooth center.

It’s sensuous. It’s hesitant.

“I haven’t been with anyone since Allen,” she says quietly.

My eyes shift up as a heavy breath leaves me. Our gazes catch.

“I’ve only been with Trace.”

“Then don’t do something you think you’ll regret,” she whispers.

I shake my head with a crooked grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t regret this, Michelle.”

Her beautiful lips tip into a smile. “Me neither.”

On a single synchronous inhale, I sink into her.

It’s hard to explain the way my body tightens under her, how the rush of sensitivity tickles over my cock as she slides over me. It’s hard to explain how perfect we are together. She can’t take all of me at first, but it is so sweet as I watch myself slowly disappear inch by inch with each gradual thrust.

Her hands hold my biceps as our hips finally touch. I reach up to trace my thumb over her jaw. I can’t help but admire her. And for some reason I don’t deserve, she’s looking down at me in the same way, trailing her palms over my neck and down to my chest.

Then we move. It’s slow at first. She’s pushing up on her knees, and I’m gripping her waist, slowly pumping up into her. But it’s also automatic, like we’re practiced. Like we’ve been doing this together for so long already. Maybe in a way, we have. I know she likes it when I touch her neck. She knows I like it when she strokes my arm. We haven’t been this sexually intimate, but, God, don’t we know each other just as personally?

We work into a rhythm. I hold her hips. She uses my chest as leverage. And I’m watching her fall onto me over and over.

I run my palms up her spine, around her ribs, over her stomach. In the area between her breasts, the arch of her shoulders, stroking my fingertips in the dip of her collarbone. I can’t get enough of her. I want to touch every curve of her body, hear every glorious sigh, and taste the amber perfume on her neck.

She bounces up and down. I grip her jaw between my hands and pull her down to kiss me again. She bites my bottom lip, and I groan against her, sliding down her sleeve and bra strap and tugging at the neckline until her breast is exposed, at mouth level so that I can break our kiss and take her nipple into my mouth. She sighs above me. Her breath catches if I run my tongue over it. It’s a whine if I nip it.

I roll my thumb at the area above where our hips meet, finding the one spot that has her breath instantly hitching. She’s so quiet. I don’t want that.

“Moan for me,” I command.

She blinks down at me. “Wh-what?”

“I want to hear you.”

“Why?”

I chuckle. “Because you’re stunning when you sigh. And I want to know those sweet noises are for me.” I hold her shoulder and pull her hips down to meet mine again. “So, moan for me.”

She’s quiet for a moment before whispering, “Nobody’s ever talked to me like this.”

Allen really was a sad excuse for a man, wasn’t he?

I grin. “Well, I am. Now, let me hear you.”

Slowly, hesitantly, she lets out a low, heady sigh.

“That’s right,” I say, the need rumbling in me.

The next one is more daring. Less of a sigh. More of a gasp.

“Just like that. There we go.”

My name leaves her lips on an exhale, and, God, my body tightens beneath her.

I thrust harder, groaning out a throaty, “Love it when you say my name.”

“Keep talking,” she sighs.

“You like it when I talk?”

“Yes.”

“God, you’re so wet for me.”

“Cliff, please—”

“And you beg so good.”