I slid his shirt off next, and spent an eternity paying lip service to his skin, the bulky muscles of his torso, touching, kissing, worshipping. He stood as I had, stone-still and absorbing every look, every kiss, every touch.
I moved to his pants next, unbuckling the narrow black leather belt, unclasping the pants, unzipping them with aching slowness, drawing them down, then his boxer-briefs so he was naked in front of me. I kissed and touched every portion of his lower half except the obvious, except his manhood. I cupped the solid globes of his ass, the thick trunks of his legs, his belly to either side of his cock, his hips, his thighs.
The curtains were open, letting in silver light from the full moon. We stood naked in front of each other, bathed in a pool of molten silver. The light caught the giant sapphire of the necklace and was refracted around in the room in glinting glimmers.
Shane wrapped his arms beneath my buttocks and lifted me up. I slipped my legs around his thighs and my arms around his neck. Our lips met in the same moment that he penetrated me, his tongue stealing into my mouth as his manhood slipped into my warm, wet folds. We gasped together, and then he lifted me, his palms on my buttocks, my legs resting on his hipbones to lever me higher. I held myself up, drawing him almost out, our eyes locked together and shimmering with anticipation of the downward plunge.
I moaned as I sank down onto him, letting my weight droop lower so he throbbed deeper and deeper until there was no farther he could go. His strength was the root of my pleasure, vulnerable to his power in this position, held aloft by his arms. I tangled my fingers in his hair, kissed everywhere I could reach as he slowly rocked his hips to pull out and drive in.
We found a pattern, then, a rhythm: plunge, and I kissed his throat; plunge, and I kissed his lips; plunge, and I kissed his shoulder.
Always before with Shane orgasms had come quickly and easily, drawn from me one after another. Now, again, it was different. His thrusts were slow, hard, and deep, and the pressure in my inner muscles built slowly, a gradual burgeoning toward inexorable detonation. Shane's breathing was coming harder, his muscles beginning to tremble as he held me aloft. We were inches from the bed, but he refused to put me down, and I didn't suggest it. He continued to course into me, and I continued to explore his upper body with kisses at every motion.
Finally he moved backward and sank down on the edge of the bed, then toppled backward with me on top of him. Now, riding him, the pressure built more quickly within me, each roll of my hips driving me onward, upward, closer to the edge. Shane felt the increase of my rhythm and he knew I was close; he pulled my hips down with his hands, took my nipple in his mouth and suckled, nipped, moved to the other. His fingers left my hips and moved to the joining of our bodies, sought the soft button of my clit and circled it, pushing me past climax into thrashing abandon. His lips were on one nipple, his fingers rolling another, his other finger working slow circles around my clit, his cock driving deep, his muscles beneath me...he was everywhere, around me, in me, beneath me.
I came, hard and seeing stars, and then came again.
And still he rocked beneath me, hard, thick, unspent.
I rolled off of him and moved to my hands and knees. He slid up behind me, touched my entrance with the tip of his cock, hesitated, then pushed into me, sighing in pleasure. I rolled back into him, rocking on my hands and knees, pushing his rhythm faster, harder, more. He gasped my name, over and over, a prayer.
I didn't think I would come again, I had thought this would be for him, but he drove into me and I gasped and felt the pressure building once again, fire leaping through my blood and blossoming in my sex, and now our motion was a desperate clash of bodies as we neared climax together, a furious onslaught of passion.
"Give it to me, Shane," I said, as he began to climax, "don't hold back...give it all to me."
"Oh god, Leo, yes...all of it, only for you..." And then he exploded, a shuddering groan, and a dozen thrusts within me, each with a spill of hot seed splashing into me, filling me, completing my own orgasm with a clench of muscles around his rigid, pulsing cock.
He folded over me, held to me, trembling, thrusting in small shuddering aftershocks. He kissed my spine, slid palms against my sides, held the dangling weight of my breasts in his hands.
He was still semi-rigid within me as we fell to our sides. I pushed my ass back into him, wanting more of him, wanting him to stay within me. I squeezed my inner muscles around him, and he thrust into me. This wasn't about sex anymore, wasn't about climax anymore; now it was about the pure joy of being filled by him, of our bodies joined.
We drifted, his body spooned against mine, and I woke to the rhythmic soughing of his sleeping breath, and his cock hard within me.
It was instinctual, my mind half asleep, my body awake and filled and wanting. I moved, a slight roll of my hips, and he, even sleeping, responded, moaning muzzily. His hand was on my hip, and now I heard his breathing change and his hand drifted up to cup my breast, and he pushed into me, pushed into me, and I pushed back, and then we were desperate once more, moving in synchronized need. Full and deep, harder and faster, his breath on my back, his fingers on my nipple, and then he rolled onto his back with me on top of him, sliding up so he was on a slight incline against the headboard, all of my weight on his body, his knees drawn up next to mine, and oh god, oh god, he'd never, never filled me so fully as this. My arms wrapped around his knees and I pulled myself up, released, pulled, released, driving him so deep I thought he might sink all the way within me and disappear, and my muscles were trembling but I kept going, pushed through it, needing his fullness more than ever. As much as I'd had him in the last few days, I couldn't get enough, couldn't be filled without wanting and needing more and more and more.
We came together, in the same moment, a groaning symphony of ecstasy.
This time, when we were finished and limp, Shane got up and brought a towel and cleaned me, gentle and thorough.
We slept again, tangled together.
* * *
I woke to Shane's lips on mine, soft and tender and hesitant. He waited until I'd rubbed the sleep from my eyes and gazed up at him with wondering eyes. His expression was that of a man about to say something important.
I waited, my heart in my throat.
"I'm so in love with you, Leo," he said.
There it was, out in the open, spoken in so many words.
"Shane..." I wanted to say it back, but I stalled.
The only time John had ever said the words, 'I love you' was when he'd proposed. My response hadn't been an enthusiastic, 'Oh John, I love you too.' No, what I'd said was, "me too." We'd been together for over two years when he'd proposed, and told me he loved me. I think he'd only said it because he figured I expected it.
Now here was Shane, telling me loved me. He wasn't proposing, I didn't think. Although I could come up with far less romantic ways of proposing than in the afterglow of mind-blowing sex, that's for sure.
If I told Shane I loved him, it was crossing a line, within myself. Love. Seems simple: you have sex with a man, you spend time with him, you learn about his faults and peccadilloes and dreams, and you think about him when you're away from him, and your lives gradually merge until they're all tangled up. Love.
But, now, with Shane, I was finding something else. It started as lust, as adventure. I'd slept with him, thinking I'd go my way the next day and chalk it up as one wild night with a hot, exotic stranger as a rebound from breaking up (rather dramatically) with John. But...that hadn't happened. It had turned into a complete upheaval of my life, of my expectations for my future...and then I'd just kept going along with him and with the insanity of events. And now, in his family's home, after meeting his mother and father and brothers and realizing I felt a sense of belonging with him, and with them, and wanting to stay with Shane and share his future, even though I barely knew him...
I started sobbing.
Shane held me, didn't shush me or ask questions, just held me tight and k
issed my tears away until they subsided.
After I'd quieted, he said, "Too soon?"
I shook my head. "No, it's not that. You've slipped a few times, like you'd almost said you loved me, but stopped yourself. But...knowing, or at least suspecting you did, that's one thing. Hearing you say it, that's another. I don't—I don't know how to deal with it. With everything. Sudan, your family, and now you tell me you love me? It's all so much."
"Why is it a big deal, though? After everything we've been through since we met, how could I not have fallen in love with you?" Shane lifted up on an elbow and stroked my skin from thigh to breast and back down. "And if you're willing to stay with me, to go public with me, then...don't you feel the same way?"
I nodded, a tiny inclination of my head. "Yeah. I do. But, like I said, knowing it and saying it is different. Saying it makes it...I don't know...more real. More permanent."
"Maybe that's how I want it," Shane said. "I don't want to let you go. I've said several times now that I'd take you back to Detroit, if you wanted to go. I'd take care of you. I mean, I'd find you a place to live, on your own. Now that you know I'm...well off, financially, you know buying you a little condo wouldn't be anything to me. I wouldn't even notice it, money-wise. And...if that's what you want, I'll do it. But to be honest, the thought of you going home, I mean back to Detroit, alone...that scares me. Not seeing you again...scares me. I want you here. I want you...period."
"I wouldn't let you buy me a condo, Shane. Sure, you could probably buy me an entire condo building and not feel it, but...I wouldn't let you." I took a deep breath and forced myself to face up to how I felt, and say it out loud. "I'm not going anywhere, Shane. I love you, too."
My heart was pounding, rabbiting a mile a minute. It felt crazy to be telling him I loved him, but...I did. I didn't want to go back to Detroit. Twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, and then back to an apartment, alone? No. Detroit wasn't home. Shane was home.
"Thank god," Shane breathed.
I felt him firming up against my thigh, his manhood hardening as he gazed down at me, his hands roving my body hungrily now. I touched him, caressed him, stroked him, took him in my hands and played with him until he was hard in my palms.
I put my hand on his neck and pulled him over me. "Make love to me, Shane."
He smiled and moved into me, kissed me as he pushed into me and filled me. It was slow and delicious, an embrace made intimate and erotic and sensual and perfect, no end to me or beginning to him, no disparate selves, only an expression of one self, one love made flesh.
When we climaxed, it was a song sung in harmony.
The End
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Biker Billionaire #3: Riding the Heir Page 6
