“No,” I grunt, not wanting him to stop, but praying that he’s moving because he has something even better in store. “More, please, babe.”
Without a word, I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance. He’s over me, supporting his weight with his arms while he rocks his erection against my pussy. Without the condom, the feel of his bare skin against me is more than I can take.
I suck in air and cry out, the need for him so deep, so consuming, that I slam my palms against his ass cheeks and practically drive him into me.
“You’re so greedy, baby,” he pants. “Tell me how bad you want me.”
“Fuck,” I hiss when he slips the tip of his cock just barely inside me. “Benny, please. Oh my God, please.”
Instead of giving me what I want, he teases me, rocking his hips back and pulling his cock from my body, then nudging oh-so slightly forward.
“Benny,” I cry, thrashing against the sheets, my knees open wide and my eyes slammed shut. “Benny, fuck me.”
But he doesn’t. Instead, he flips me onto my stomach and yanks my hips into the air. Then he kneels behind me and spreads my ass cheeks with his hands.
“I never want this to be over,” he breathes, and I can’t stop and analyze what he means.
I just need to feel it.
The mind-shattering bliss when his erection finally slides between my legs and into my body.
“Oh God.” My face smashes into the mattress, my ass as high in the air as it can reach. “Deeper, deeper.”
He obliges, but this isn’t a hard fuck. This is a slow, deep coupling, his strokes long, his sighs that end in my name breathless and heady. He grips my hips like he’s holding on to me for dear life, just like I’m gripping the blankets. I press back to meet his gentle thrusts, my need for release so intense that I’m bouncing, rocking, thrusting back against him, practically forcing him to fuck me harder.
This union, his bare skin against mine, this intimacy, is more than I’ve shared with anyone in a long, long time. It’s so good. His length inside me, the pace of his thrusts, the pressure of his fingers.
The pleasure as he hits deep is so intense, I feel tears gather at the corners of my eyes.
“Touch yourself,” he pants. “I want to feel you make yourself come.”
Even though my face is down and my ass is up, I practically drag a weak hand between my legs. I don’t need to touch myself, but I do, pressing two fingers against my clit while Benny picks up speed, thrusting harder, spurred on my throaty, desperate moans. My fingers slip along the front of my body, Benny fucking me harder from behind until, finally, I feel his cock get even larger and he slows, croaking out a helpless “Willow…” as he starts to come, and that sets me off.
I see nothing but darkness behind my lids, my face off the side so I can gasp in chestfuls of air as I come, wave after wave of pleasure flooding my body until I’m so weak, so done, my knees give out, and I collapse onto the bed.
Benny uses his arms to brace himself, lowering his body, his cock still inside me, until he’s lying on top of me. I can feel the erratic pounding of his heartbeat against my back. My pussy throbs and my chest is squished under his weight. It’s all so good. It’s so much. His heat, his size, his perfection.
I giggle, forgetting that we didn’t have the condom to hold back the mess.
But Benny doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he pulls me closer, cuddling my face against his chest and tightening his arms around me.
I lie there quietly, my body cooling, my breaths perfectly in time with his. It’s so much. The way he feels. The way I feel when I’m with him. It’s amazing and arousing and exciting, but it’s a lot. More than I’ve felt with anyone. Not just the sex, but this part. The way he holds me after. The way he dozes but still kisses me, my name a whisper on his lips, even when I think he’s asleep.
This man is a lot. He might even be too much.
He’s snoring lightly, his arms locked around me. But I can’t sleep. I’m thinking, my mind whirling. “I’m going to get a sip of water,” I whisper, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
He rolls over, tucking himself deep in the bedding.
I grab his T-shirt from the floor and toss it over my head, then head into the bathroom to clean up. Benny is still sleeping, so I head out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. It’s quiet, and the water of the river sparkles under the light of the moon.
I like it here. I’ve liked a lot of places I’ve lived. I’ve had some gorgeous homes, condos, yards, but I never expected to find a condo in a small town overlooking the river that would feel like home. Home isn’t something I’ve had much of in my life. It’s a strange feeling and not entirely unwelcome.
I check my phone for messages. I have three texts from Jessa, all venting about bloating and where exactly her newest show went off the rails.
I check my work email and have about twenty. Nothing pressing. I snooze them all until morning, until I reach one from a name I recognize.
Maggie Tempestini.
