Slow, I remember. Right.
My legs dangle off the edge, and I prop myself on my elbows as he stands in front of me.
“I’m yours,” he tells me. “I will always be yours, Lily. But now it’s time for you to say it.”
I sit up and my eyes flit over all of him. In all our life, he has never once said to me, you are mine. He has never taken me the way I’ve taken him. He has given himself to me. And I realize, it’s my time to make this right and give myself to him.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
The muscles in his jaw twitch, almost smiling. “I’ll believe you when I see it.”
I squint. “Then why’d you tell me to say it?”
He leans forward, his lips so close to mine. His palms set on either side of my body, forcing me to fall back a little. I hesitate to kiss him. He’s testing me, I think. “Because I love those words.”
My lips part. Kiss me, I plead. “I’m yours,” I breathe.
His eyes drop to mine, watching me, drawing out the moment. The spot between my legs aches for him. I want the pressure of his body—to rock against me, to fill me, to say my name over and over.
Kiss me. “I’m yours,” I choke, wide-eyed in utter suspense.
And then he sucks on the bottom of my lip, he teasingly bites it and then sinks his pelvis into mine. I buck my hips to meet him and he lets me.
Lo grips the hem of his shirt and tugs it off his head, tossing it aside. Before I run my palms over his taught chest and newly sharpened abs, he laces his fingers with mine. Simultaneously, he puts his knee on the mattress and pulls me higher onto the bed, my head finding the pillow.
He climbs on and keeps my hands trapped in his. Then he stretches my arms high above me, our knuckles knocking into the headboard.
His body hovers over me, no longer melded together. I squirm beneath the space I dearly hate, my heart thudding and raging to be even closer. “Lo…” I can’t take it anymore. My back arches a little as I try to meet his body again, and he tilts his head, disapproving.
So I stay still. I try to let him take control since I need to go slow. His lips lower but linger from touching mine. He keeps that distance as he unbuttons my jeans, relinquishing the hold on my hand. He uses his other to guide my palm to his zipper. Yes. It takes only seconds before I have him unzipped and unbuttoned, tugging his jeans off with familiarity. I wiggle out of mine and he lifts the shirt off my head, in nothing but a black lacy bra and panty set. I did know he was coming home today, after all.
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…