He kissed her again as he guided his cock to her pussy and pushed inside. The instant of resistance only made the ultimate entry sweeter. He filled her completely, then stilled and lifted his head, a new note of alarm in his gaze.
“I’m not wearing any protection.”
She sighed, almost regretfully. “I’m on the Pill.”
With a moan that told her he couldn’t wait any longer, he drove hard inside her. Nobody felt like that, nobody ever would. He came back to her fully at that moment and she accepted him.
“Then hear this. You’re mine now. You commit to me, and nobody else.” He bared his teeth in a feral claim.
“I don’t want anyone else.”
With a harsh groan, he plunged, withdrew and thrust again. Each plunge brought him deeper, seated his soul closer to hers and she understood the difference between fucking and making love. Not that she wouldn’t enjoy a good, hard fuck from time to time, but this meeting of minds, of hearts, of souls, lay on a different level, a higher plane.
He shifted so he could reach her sweet spot with every stroke, and balanced on one arm so he could touch her and tweak her clit.
Not just a meeting of minds then. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and cried out when he caressed her to a series of sparkling orgasms. She shoved her fingers into his thick pelt of hair, caressed his scalp, feeling the strands harsh against her hand.
The sensations glittering up her spine spread and grew, encompassing every part of her and she strained up towards him with a cry before she shattered. Dimly, she heard his helpless shout, then her name as he, too, found fulfilment.
He fell on the bed beside her, still panting with exertion and she snuggled into his arms as if she belonged there. Which, from now on, she did.
Then she remembered a question she hadn’t asked him and opened her eyes.
He kissed her before he allowed her to say anything. “So what is it, Vashti, my love?”
“Tonight, I heard your agent call you ‘Ed.’ Are you an Edward or an Edmund?”
His lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Neither, I’m afraid. I come from a decent working-class family and my parents named me after their two idols.” He paused. “My surname really is Zoltan. My grandfather was a Hungarian immigrant who came to England in World War Two. When I was born, my mother wanted one name and my father wanted another. So they called me both.”
She gave him a soft punch, laughing when he gave a mock wince. “Come on. Tell me.”
He closed his eyes. “Elton Dylan Zoltan,” and winced again when she burst into laughter. “Told you you’d hate me.”
“No. It makes me love you more.”
And the next time he made love to her, she cried out his name. “Ed” never sounded so good before. Zoltan found peace and a joy he knew would never die.
About the Author
Lynne Connolly has been in epublishing since the Wild West days. She’s holding on, and these days she writes for several epublishers. After a varied career in business in which she sold baby nappies, coffee and beer, she took a break, and ended up writing instead. She lives in England, but tries to visit the US at least once a year. She lives in the North West of England with her family and her mews, Jack. Her website is http://lynneconnolly.com and she is also on Twitter and Facebook.
Email: [email protected]
Lynne loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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