by DeSalvo, Kim
She wondered for a moment how his kiss could be so soft when every part of him was so hard—and she slid his jacket from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. As she fumbled with his shirt buttons, he slowly slid the zipper down the back of her dress, and she stepped out of it as it pooled at her feet, kicking it behind her.
She shivered as his hands ran over her bare skin; down her arms to her waist, then up to cup her breasts, and cried out softly as he deftly released the front clasp and bent to kiss them, taking each nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the hard peaks.
“You are so beautiful,” he groaned as he shrugged out of his shirt and pulled her against his bare chest. She could only growl low in her throat as she ran her hands up his back, around to his tight stomach, and down to the waistband of his pants. She undid the button and slid the zipper down, letting them fall to the floor with the rest of their expensive and exclusive clothing, pressing her body to his and letting her hands wander where they liked. And it seemed that wherever they wandered, she liked.
His hands were wandering, too, and when they found their way beneath the thin material of her panties; when he slowly slid one long finger into her, she gasped. “Oh God!” she breathed, grinding against him to hold him there. She felt an urgent need to connect with him, to make their bodies one, and her breathing quickened as she reached around to stroke him. He slid her panties down with his other hand, and pushed her onto the bed where she lay breathless. Without hesitation, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and yanked them down. She moaned as she took him in.
She’d seen him in swim trunks, and had appreciated the intense masculinity of his form, but this was something entirely different. He stood in front of her, and she could only hum low in her throat. He was huge. Every single delectable part of him was huge. She wondered why they hadn’t made statues from his form; carved his likeness in marble; because he was absolutely perfect.
He couldn’t help but snap his trademark grin as he gauged her reaction to him. For the past year, since he’d first fallen for her, she’d been an unattainable prize; an engaged woman. But she’d gotten into his head, and many a morning he’d wake with a painfully swollen erection that wouldn’t be satisfied, and her face burning into the back of his eyelids. He had to do something to deal with the frustrations, especially after their encounter in LA, and he’d taken to working out on a regular basis to try and release some of the pent up anxiety. He’d done push-ups in the mornings, run the treadmill in the afternoons, and finally made use of all the gym equipment he’d purchased over the years that he’d always promised himself he’d start using.
Sometimes in his fantasies he’d meet her again and she’d see him as more than the amiable jokester; good old Bo; and more as the man he felt inside. The results had been remarkable. Without making a specific plan, he’d become incredibly fit—a nice six pack, strong arms and shoulders, a narrow waist. And the way she was looking at him right now made every single bead of sweat, every aching muscle, and every grueling work-out more than worth it.
Damn! He wanted to take her—to possess her—so badly, but he’d waited much too long for this dream; unbelievably realized; to hold her in his arms, and he wanted this night to last forever. Their first night. Hopefully, the first of many.
He came to her slowly, stretching out beside her on the enormous bed. She could feel the tension in his coiled muscles, but he moved patiently, slowly, tracing the outline of her face with his fingers and staring deep into her eyes. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispered as he brought his mouth to hers, starting slow and then intensifying the kiss with a swipe of his tongue. She melted into him, turning to press her body against his but he pushed her back, nibbled his way down her neck, and explored her reverently, kissing her toes, kneecaps, belly button, and all of the places that made her cry out in pleasure. When he finally came back to her mouth she could only whisper his name, over and over, as she pressed against him, molding her curves to the hard lines of his body. The smile he gave her then was not his usual boyish grin, but something more—something deeper, and it made parts of her absolutely come alive.
She ran her hands along the contours of his chest, his hips, and stroked him urgently, groaning in pleasure at the way his eyes rolled upward as he growled in the back of his throat. Too soon, he pulled her away, entangling both of her hands in one of his and stretching them out over her head. He used his other hand to set her on fire, and she moaned in pleasant agony as he took his time, teasing at her entrance until she writhed beneath his touch.
“Perfect and beautiful in every way, just like I knew you would be,” he whispered, and before she could answer, before she could tell him he was perfect, too, he plunged inside her and she cried out his name, pushing against him as she rode the unbelievable wave of ecstasy all the way to the end and was breathless.
“Oh Bo—that was…” she searched for the right word—incredible? Awesome? Amazing? And then settled on, “perfect.”
He rolled over to kiss her once more, and smiled. “It was even better than I imagined,” he whispered, “and I imagined it would be pretty close to heaven.” He traced the contour of her breast with his finger, and slid his hand up to stroke her cheek. “You’ve just made me a very happy man, Lexi,” he groaned. “A very happy man indeed.”
“You rank pretty high on the happy scale, too, I must say.”
“Yeah?” he smirked. “Well, I hope that means we’ll do it again. Soon.”
“Definitely,” she murmured against the hammering of his heart. “Most definitely.”
And after a fabulous weekend, an exhausting day, and an incredible night, they fell asleep, tangled in each other, and listening to the sounds of the sea.
Monday dawned bright and clear; another perfect Caribbean day. Tia awoke in the arms of her husband and snuggled closer to him. In just a few hours they would leave for their honeymoon—she had no idea where they would be going, except for a few days in Paris where Dylan would keep his promise to play at the mayor’s daughter’s wedding in payment for the private birthday dinner at the top of the Eiffel Tower. The night that he’d first told her he loved her.
As she listened to the waves rushing the shore and the calls of the birds that flitted about in the trees to greet the day, she was filled with a light—a pure joy at what her future held. She rolled over and kissed Dylan on the cheek.
“Good morning, Mrs. Miller,” he mumbled with a smile, pulling her close and wrapping her in his arms.
“Best morning of my life. So far.”
“And they lived happily ever after,” he whispered, stroking her cheek.
“InHappily ever after,” she smiled, bringing her lips down to meet his. “Always and forever.”
