I led us down, onto our sides, heads on a pillow. My scent was there in its case, and I hoped he could smell it, too. My sweater was stifling, and I broke our mouths apart to strip it away. Then my jeans. He took my lead, and soon we were down to our tees and underwear. His shorts were slate blue, his excitement apparent. My own arousal pulsed hot at the thought that I’d feel him if we pressed closed. The first hard cock I’d touched since undergrad. The first wet, excited woman he’d touched since he was twenty-six.
Our legs locked, mouths seeking. He let me hear his heavy breaths and deep moans, let me feel him squirm, antsy. His fingertips rubbed my collarbone, then with a surrendering groan, he cupped my breast.
The contact shocked my breath away. I’d felt something for every boy I’d gone to bed with, but I’d never felt this. Never had a man felt so right, my need for him so urgent. Animalistic and instinctual. The rush of it made me dizzy.
He swallowed, looking a touch drunk. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”
“Do you remember,” I whispered against his mouth, “when you asked me wear my hottest underwear for you?”
“Yeah.”
“I bought some after you said that, special. Because I didn’t own any that made me feel sexy. I bought some and I wore it that next week, just like you asked.”
He exhaled roughly, a man in pain.
“And I’m wearing it now.”
His eyes caught mine, burning hot. “You wore it tonight, knowing we’d end up . . .”
“I didn’t know. But I hoped we’d get back here. Maybe I planned for us to get back here, in a way.”
Between panting kisses he murmured, “I want to see.”
I let him ease up the hem of my shirt, to take in my panties. He looked overwrought at the sight, the same way I felt watching his lips part and his eyes grow hungry. He tugged at my top, and I arched off the mattress so he could push it up, then I peeled it away for him. With a soft push, he turned me onto my back and knelt between my legs. I was ready for his aggression, but all he did was look at me. Drank me in with that thirsty stare.
“Green,” he said with a little smirk.
I smirked right back, nerves gone. “The way you talk about plants, and summertime . . . It seemed more exotic somehow than black or red.”
He nodded, stroking my legs from calf to hip, up and down, again and again. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
Worth waiting all these years for?
“I’m almost glad,” I murmured, “about having shut all this stuff out for so long. If it means I get to discover it all over again, this way. Feeling it so . . . intensely, I guess. Wanting it this badly. With you.”
He had no words for that, only actions. On our sides once more, and his leg thrust between mine, two mouths devouring. I pawed at his shirt until he wrestled it away. His hand was warm on my breast, thumb swiping back and forth, quicker and quicker as my nipple tightened. I’d forgotten I could feel so much there, and the way it deepened the tension between my thighs. I stroked his chest and arm, his hard belly, the crest of muscle at his hip. All these gorgeous shapes I’d stolen guilty glimpses of from my office window, suddenly hot against my palm. I imagined him flexing, imagined him pumping into me, and all at once the hunger went from an ache to a painful twist.
“I want to feel you,” I whispered, then sucked his lip. “Show me.”
His hand was on mine, leading it, pressing my palm to him. Soft cotton, hard flesh. A thousand tiny things I’d forgotten, like the weight of a man’s arousal, its heat, the way it reacted, straining for more. He stroked my hand up and down, slow and light. He was bigger than I’d let myself imagine, harder than I’d remembered possible. He urged my touch lower and curled my palm around that most vulnerable part of him, squeezing softly. Led me back up, cupping my fingers around his blunt, thick crown.
I did this to you, I thought, tracing the cleft with my thumb. And you’ve imagined this very moment, same as me. The moment I found the evidence of what we feel for each other, right in my own grip.
He let me explore, and I did so slowly. Thoroughly. I felt it when he got wet, from the way the cotton dragged against my palm. I freed my mouth to look between us at the dark patch on his shorts, and to let him see how fascinated I was.
“Feel how ready I am for this?” he whispered.
I nodded, swallowed.
“You want to see me?”
I met his eyes, so dark in the low light—black as the sky way out in the country. “Yeah. Show me.”
And there it was—the sight I’d been imagining forever. His big hand, big thumb tucked under his waistband, pushing it down. Big cock. He wrapped himself in a fist, eased it up and back.
“You like it?” he murmured.
“I love it.”
“I want your hand on me.” He moved his own low, circling the root with his thumb and first finger, presenting himself. “Touch me.”
His skin was hot. So was mine, and there was friction, even just between my fingertips and his bare shaft. I wrapped my hand around him, wanting us both to see how thick he was in my small fist, how dark and flushed against my pale fingers. How right that must look, after all those years stuck servicing himself.
Soft, searing skin glided along that rock-hard core with my strokes. He dropped his face, nuzzling my neck, kissing and nipping. “Say you like it.”
I tightened my grip, made the pulls long and luxurious. “I do. Even more than I’d imagined I would.”
I heard him swallow. “Am I as big as you’d hoped?”
“Bigger. And harder.” Tighter still, I let my hand tell him the things I had no words for.
He moaned, breath scalding my throat. “I tried to imagine this so many times. You touching me. But I got it so wrong, back then. I never guessed what it’d be like, smelling only you. And your candle. And . . .” He grunted softly, lost to a caress that crested his head. “And how quiet it would be. Quiet enough to actually hear you, touching me.”
Indeed. The whisper of spring-green satin, my breast moving against his arm as I pumped him. Of skin on skin. So much breathing, and the rustle of the down comforter as he shifted his eager body.
“What do you want, tonight?” I asked.
“Everything,” he said, watching my hand. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you’ve missed most.”
“Everything,” he said again. “A little of everything.”
“That thing you imagined, on your birthday . . .”
“Your mouth.”
I nodded.
“If you like that,” he said, filthy hope written all over his face.
“Lie back.” And let me spoil you.
He arranged a couple of pillows against the headboard, half sitting. He wants a good view, I thought with a happy shiver. My own view was a heart-stopper—this powerful, gorgeous body reclined on my bed, taut with anticipation. He helped me get his shorts off, then spread his strong thighs for me.
I moved to my knees and elbows, capturing him in my hand. I’d forgotten the smell of an excited man. I’d forgotten that I could love this. I’d stigmatized all but the most gentle, romantic guises of sex since Justin, but as I brought Eric to my lips, I remembered so much. Dark things that had made me curious when I’d been younger. Rough things. Rough men. I’d closed those appetites in a box, not trusting them for so long . . . But he didn’t break me, I realized, taking Eric between my lips, feeling him tighten like a spring. I’d shut those things away—packed them, labeled them, Not for me, not anymore. But they returned in flashes now, a rush of dark desires. My desires again.
“Yes.” He arched when I closed my mouth tight around his head, and I felt the weight of his palms on my shoulders, then my neck.
It all came back to me, this act. Everything it had made me feel—vulnerable and excited with one boy, a little demeane
d by another, powerful once, dirty another time . . . but never like this. Never hungry this way, wanting simply to taste a man’s most intimate skin, taste his arousal. Feel his desire against my tongue and between my lips. Hear it in that deep voice, chasing through the shadows like a breeze.
“God, Annie.”
His hands were neither pushy nor gentle. Warm fingertips in my hair, following the motions, urging but not forcing. His breath had grown harsh, and every little grunt and gasp lit me from the inside. I eased him out, meeting his eyes.
“Let me hear you.”
His face was flushed, lips parted, eyes at once burning and glassy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Moan for me. Or talk to me.” Just that voice, transformed by what I made him feel.
“I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“You couldn’t. I want to hear whatever you’re thinking. Whether it’s romantic or nasty or mean or any other thing. Whatever comes out.”
He nodded.
I took him back inside, rewarded immediately with a long, deep groan. It vibrated through the length of his big body, and the room felt darker, the taste and scent of his excitement sharper.
“Yeah,” he murmured, fingertips guiding once more. “I haven’t felt this in so long. Nothing this soft, or sweet. Nothing that made me feel this close to anybody.”
I took him deep—deeper than was comfortable, and more aggressive, but in the moment, my need to consume him drowned everything else. My need to meet his needs. To taste his relief and surrender—
“Stop,” he said suddenly, nearly pleading.
I backed off and met his gaze.
“I’m too close. Way too close.”
“I don’t mind if you . . . Not at all.”
He shook his head. “Not like this. Not tonight.”
So often he made these decrees . . . But how long since he’d been able to control his experiences? I smiled. “Whatever you want, Eric.”
“Face-to-face.”
Warmth bloomed in me, happy hunger. “Sure.”
“Let me taste you first,” he said, already moving, urging me to swap places. “I’ll get you so ready. And get a hold on myself before I lose it.”
He straddled my legs, and when his hands slipped beneath my back I arched to let him free my bra clasp. His cock pressed along my navel, hot and heavy, still slippery from my mouth. The breath left him in a rush as he lifted the cups away, his lids dropping like blinds, his gaze slivers of heat searing my bare skin. He moved his knees between my thighs, gruff, shoved a forearm beneath my back, taking my breast in the other hand. The rough stroke of his thumb, then the smooth, slick heat of his tongue. I held him, fingers in his dark hair, my own head driving into the pillow as his mouth teased and sucked and spoiled. Then those lips were at my ribs, my belly, his arm peeling free from under me. Strong hands on my hip bones, kisses trailing low to flirt with the lace border of my panties. More lace at the sides, and his fingers curled under it, tugging. I lifted my butt and let him strip me bare.
As he settled between my legs he said, “Tell me what you need.”
“Just to feel how much you want this.” And I could see it already, the need in his eyes and the hunger in his parted lips. Awe in the crease of his brow.
I’d never done this and felt what I did then. Pure impatience, not a trace of worry. I didn’t care how I looked, how I smelled or tasted, and whether those things were good enough. A younger woman’s worries. I only cared that Eric discover it all—the flavor and scent of my desire, the shape and feel of this place he’d not visited in so long.
He taunted, breathing deeply, letting me feel the warmth of his exhalation. I gripped his hair tighter. The faintest contact—his nose, then his lower lip, another long breath. My legs shifted and he stilled them, holding my thighs in place. Those hands told me, You’re dreaming if you think I’m going to rush this.
His voice told me, “It felt so good—your mouth on me.” I felt each word against my most sensitive skin.
“You felt so good there,” I whispered back. “I want to feel you every way I can, before we say good night. All the ways we told each other about—”
I gasped as his tongue moved, a firm, gliding stroke tracing my outer lip. I let his hair go to grasp his shoulder, needing skin and muscle. He mirrored the caress on the other side, and my nails bit him. A greedy sound warmed me. Slow, long licks along the inner seams of my lips, then a deep sweep of his hot tongue, straight up the center. Another, and finally those soft lips closed around my clitoris.
“Oh.”
He sucked, tongue flickering. And though my sighs were near silent, he moaned as if he were fucking—as if he could feel precisely what I did.
The air was cool when his mouth abandoned me. “What did you fantasize about most,” he asked, “while we were still writing each other?”
I shut my eyes as his mouth went back to work. “Dark things.”
His stroking tongue demanded, What dark things?
“Always you . . . exposing yourself. Us kissing, maybe, then your hand, lowering your shorts. Showing me how excited you were. Things I never thought about before . . . not the way you make me do.” A man’s bare excitement, bold as pornography.
He changed his position, leaving me aching as he shifted onto his hip so he could clasp his cock. His flesh looked heavy, and as he stroked I watched it go from swollen to steel. Watched his muscles tense, the ones along his side knitting, his belly furrowed, his arm locked. Excitement glistened at his crown, and I felt the same evidence greeting his tongue as he lapped at my arousal.
“I wondered how you looked,” I muttered, head fuzzy. “When you touched yourself. Thinking about me . . . I bet it was never this quiet, or dark.” What else must he be wallowing in? “Never this warm, in the winter. On a bed this soft. Tasting me, like you are now.”
His pumping fist fumbled at that, his laving tongue disrupted by a deep moan.
“Can you taste me?” I asked. “How much I want you?”
“Yes.” His nose rubbed my clit as his tongue drove deep.
I cupped his neck, our skin damp, his hair curling under my palm. “You can’t taste me deep enough,” I said, the words flowing from who knew where. From some dark place hell-bent on baiting this man. “Your fingers can’t explore me how I need you to.”
His hand abandoned his cock at that. Two digits slid between my lips, his mouth claiming my clit. He showed me exactly how right I was.
“That’s good, Eric. But it’s not enough.”
“Tell me,” he murmured, teeth nearly nipping, making me twitch. He moved his fingers like a cock, steady and stiff. “Tell me what you need, Annie.”
“You. All of you.” Imagining just that, the pleasure simmering between my legs spiked, tight and grasping.
“I won’t last a minute.”
“Good. I want to see that. How bad you need this.”
His moan was everything—excitement, frustration, awe, aggression. I could taste his need in that sound, as surely as he could taste mine on his tongue.
“Eric.”
Another moan, a surrender that curled his body around my leg, muscles tightening.
“Show me,” I said softly, and stroked his hair. “Show me what it feels like, to be wanted by a man, the way you want me.”
His eyes caught mine, burning bright across the landscape of my naked skin. Strong shoulders rolled as he moved, stalking up my body, arms at my ribs, thighs knocking mine wide. Anticipation roared through me like fire, and getting a condom detached and unwrapped for him took ten lifetimes. He leaned back, chest and abdomen gorgeous in the candlelight, forearm flexing as he rolled the latex down, all the way down. He was big, and the way it hugged him was the best kind of obscene, making me want to feel the same—stroked and stretched and filled with him, every filthy thing.
&nb
sp; “You ready?” he asked me, voice thick.
“Yeah. You?”
He held himself steady, held my eyes. “I’ve been ready for this for months. Though I never really thought I’d get to be here.”
“Me neither.”
“You deserve a man who’ll spoil you rotten,” he said. “Make love or fuck or whatever it is you want, for as long as you need it. What you’re gonna get is somebody else, this first time. I can’t help that. But if you let me, next time I’ll be everything you need, I swear.”
“You already are,” I whispered. “Whatever you are, that’s what I want.”
He lowered onto braced arms, sealing us with body heat. I opened wider. As his smooth, sheathed head met my lips, I grasped his shoulders, anchoring myself. Holding my breath, memorizing everything. Every ounce of pressure as he pushed, every thick inch of his arousal as I welcomed it. Every pound of muscle as his body sank against me.
His eyes shut as his cock slid home, all the way home. “Oh God.”
I could feel him throbbing inside me, the urgent tick of his pulse. It was more perfect and right than I ever could have guessed, the two of us joined this way. Like the electricity I’d felt between our eyes so many times at Cousins, a thousandfold. It put my fantasies to the blackest shame, the reality of this moment.
“Whatever you want to feel,” I told him. “Take it. It can be about you, this time.”
“You’re so fucking warm.” His eyes opened. “And beautiful. And soft. Everything.”
“Take me. Take me like this is your birthday—like you can have anything you want.” And wasn’t it his birthday, in a way? A rebirth, a man’s sexuality rising up into the light once more.
With a steadying breath, he began to move. He was recording every centimeter of the friction, surely as I was, every sensation, every subtle, mutual stroke of our joined bodies. I rubbed my palms over his chest and belly, feeling greedy.
Hard Time Page 15
