He soaks in the curvature of my body with headiness, and he begins to remove his last article of clothing. “Eyes on me,” he says huskily.
They are permanently fixed to the bulge in his boxer-briefs. “They are,” I mumble. Technically this is a part of him.
“My eyes, love, not my cock,” he says, a smile behind the words.
I raise my gaze as he slips off his boxer-briefs. Watching the way he looks at me nearly sends me into a tailspin. I swallow and can’t help but catch a glimpse. Oh God, I need him now. He’s hard and as wanting as I am, but yet, he has restraint.
I do not.
He could easily take advantage of my eagerness, most guys would. But in order to help me, he has to control my impatience and my compulsion to go again. And again. Because my addiction isn’t entirely a one-way street the way his is. I need his body in order to satisfy these unhealthy desires.
So he must say no at some point. I just don’t want it to be soon.
He leans forward again, and his lips begin their descent from my neck to my belly button, sucking, nibbling—teasing. My hands grip his back while I hold a moan deep in my throat.
He kisses my hipbone and gently slips off my panties, the cold air nipping the most sensitive places. I expect his lips to warm the spot, but he eases off me and unclips my bra, sliding the straps off my shoulders so, so slowly. The light touch taunts my nerves and my sanity. His tongue runs between my breasts and then dips back into my mouth. And that’s when his arms scoop around me and lift me up in a tight embrace, my breasts melding into his muscles, my limbs nearly tangled in his. My legs wrap around his waist, and I ache to lower onto his cock. But he keeps his arms locked around my chest, forcing me above his lap.
“Sit on your legs,” he tells me.
“But…”
He lightly kisses me and tears away while I try to go in for another stronger one. “Sit on your legs, Lil. Or I’ll do it for you.”
That sounds better. He sees the glimmer in my eyes, and he picks up my right leg and bends my knee so my heel is underneath my butt. As he goes for the left, his hand skims up my thigh and to the crease of my ass. Holy…
Okay, I’m sitting on my heels now, trying not to come before he enters me. What if my therapist wrote that I can only climax once? Besides that sounding like torture, I hope to have sex with Lo today. I will not ruin that by going crazy with foreplay.
I’m still sitting straight up, and his body has not drifted from mine. His heart pounds against my chest, and he cups my face in his hand.
“Breathe,” he tells me. “Just remember to breathe.”
And then with measured unhurriedness, he gradually rests my back onto my comforter and slowly begins to slip inside of me. The position allows for such deep entry that I cry out and grab onto his shoulder for support.
His forehead rests near mine, and he raises my chin, kissing me forcefully, just how I like it, before he begins to rock agonizingly slow. Each movement mimics our heavy breaths. My parted lips brush his as he digs deeper. I whimper, my toes already curling, my head already flying off my body.
His hand massages my breast, but his eyes never once leave mine. Hot tears seep from the creases, the intensity and emotion driving me to a peak so high that every time I breathe in, he breathes out, as though keeping me alive for this moment. I melt into his slow movement, the way he disappears inside of me, and the pace that causes my body to light on fire.
“Don’t stop…” I cry. “…Lo…” I tremble, and his arms slip around my back again, holding me tighter.
He speeds up a little, and I feel the top of the hill. I see us climbing together.
And then he thrusts and holds inside of me. I buck and cry and claw at his back. My whole body pulsing, my heart thrumming—I am his.
I collapse back onto the bed, too exhausted to lift an arm or a leg. He takes care of me, bending my knees and stretching my legs out from the last position. He rests his hands on my kneecaps, and leans forward to kiss me again. I taste the salt from our sweat, and I raise my hand to grab the back of his hair, my eagerness suddenly replacing the tiredness from our emotional sex. But he laces his fingers into mine, stopping me.
I frown. “No?” Only once?
He shakes his head and then kisses my temple. “I love you,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
“I love you too,” I tell him. But I do want to wrap my legs tightly around him, giving him no choice but to harden and take me again. He scrutinizes me closely, and he must see my impatience for round two.