Honor bends and licks my leaking tip, and my cock jolts so hard it practically slaps her in the face.
‘Baby,’ I tell her. ‘I’m too close. I can’t—let me get a condom on.’
I scrabble desperately in the bedside drawer and draw out the fruits of my emergency trip to the chemist on the way home from the airport yesterday. Tear open a box.
‘Allow me.’ Honor holds out her hand, a lascivious smileon her beautiful face, and rips the foil. She runs a hand up and down the length of me and deftly rolls the condom on as I watch this unimaginably wonderful spectacle. I inhale hard as she ministers to my poor, tormented cock.
And then she’s straddling me, her spectacular body looming over me, and she lowers herself down, feeding me into her inch by inch, until I bottom out and sensation grows and grows, flowing outwards from where we join across the rest of my body. I rear up and kiss her, hungrily, desperately, before bending my head to her perfect, perfect breasts and sucking hard.
She moans and rolls her hips to take me even more deeply inside, and moves. Slowly. Up, until I’m almost entirely out of her. And back down, sinking as deep as she can onto me. It’s so fucking heavenly that I have minutes left in me, if not seconds, and as the arousal builds, so the emotion undulates through my chest in a wave.
I reach up and around her and pull her down to me, flip us over so I can get closer to her, hook a hand under one of her knees and angle myself deeper and she joins me in a kiss: deep, sensual rolls of our tongues that ramp up the intensity of what I’m feeling in my cock to another level.
Her kisses grow more fierce and she whimpers into my mouth as she angles her hips up and moves more forcefully with me. Her most intimate muscles are beginning to shudder around me as she sucks on my tongue.
‘Oh, God.Noah.’
She clenches my arse in an attempt to draw us even closer, and I happily oblige by hiking her knee up higher, pulling her as tightly against me as I can. A sheen of sweat has broken out all over my skin with the effort of holding myself back from the edge, but it’s worth every drop of exertion if I can take her with me.
‘Tell me what you need, baby. Come for me, if you can.’
Her skin is slick against mine and I focus on maximising the friction for her as her muscles grip me and her fingernails dig into my back and my arse. She’s making a sound I haven’t heard her make before, a low groan in the back of her throat, and it grows louder and more agonised with every thrust.
I’m so close. Whew. I slide out and drive back inside her with a determination and self-control I didn’t know I had, and she breaks, crying out, her arms around me in a vice and her muscles shuddering, convulsing around my cock in a performance so glorious that it sends me over the edge too.
‘Fuck.’ I take another thrust and bottom out, emptying myself in a deluge of white-hot pleasure while she quivers around me. I kiss her, gasping, and bury my face in her hair.
‘Honor. God.Jesus, Honor. Baby. Holyfuck.’
I wrap my arms and upper leg around her as tightly as I can, melding us together, our hearts hammering against each other’s chests, our breath harsh and ragged as we come down. Entangled. Reborn.
I get rid of the condom and clean myself up as quickly as humanly possible, then rejoin my goddess back in the bedroom. She’s lying on top of my duvet, one arm flung over her eyes, her rib cage still rising and falling exaggeratedly. What a sight. I scoot back on the bed and pull her to me so we’re flush against each other. Maximum skin on skin. I smooth her hair. I still haven’t found the words to acknowledge what just happened between us.
Honor gazes at me. Nose to nose. Her beautiful, huge tiger eyes still look a little glazed.
‘You know, I’ve never, ever had a vaginal orgasm before.’ She strokes my upper arm.
I grin. ‘Feeling you have one around my cock was fucking amazing. How did you like it?’
‘It was incredible. Like this amazing ache that just kept building and building. I didn’t know it was going to happenuntil right before it did.’ She stretches luxuriously in my arms. ‘The pressure’s on from now on.’
‘Challenge gratefully accepted,’ I whisper. A fresh wave of emotion hits me.
I had a plan today: to take full advantage of the fantasy Honor offered me when she showed up as her TV persona. To stay in charge. To give her the fantasy she’d professed to want and to remind her I wasn’t a mere lovesick fan, that I was capable of consuming her and giving her everything she desired in bed. And I know I delivered on my initial promise to her. I flipped some switch inside her that transported her away from all the bullshit in her real life to a place so thrilling that it felt more real than anything she left behind when she walked through my front door.
But somewhere along the line, my plan fell apart in an intoxicating tangle of seeing her response to me and to our game, inhaling her skin, tasting her and feeling her come apart around me. Our little role-play allowed us to shed any remaining inhibitions, and in doing so took us to a place so intimate that to consider this experience just sex would be a joke.
Some kind of chemical reaction has happened here, something that feels as significant as the Big Bang, and now an addiction to Honor Chapman courses through my veins. An addiction to the curve of her back as she arches in ecstasy, and the way her adorable eyelashes flutter when I kiss her, and the noises she makes when she’s coming that are so fucking intoxicating that, like a crack addict, I’d do anything to get my next fix. The hollows above her collarbones. The perfect plumpness of her bottom lip between my teeth.
This isn’t what I planned. It isn’t what I promised her. Sure, I promised her devotion and adoration (as well as a steady supply of orgasms) but I meant it lightly. I was supposed to be her enthusiastic partner in bed, and that was it.
In this moment, as I stroke her satiny skin in long, decadent laps and my entire body hums from the touch of her skin against mine, I’m reminded that the extraordinary connection we’ve just shared will shortly ebb away as she slips back to a schedule that is full and demanding and glamorous and does not require my services.
She’s married. She’s famous. She runs a huge brand. These stolen, sunlit slivers of time on my bed are the full extent of what I can hope for from her. They’re a miracle in themselves, but I’m growing dangerously high on them.
She interrupts my reverie. ‘You may have spoilt me for life with that doctor stunt you pulled.’
Her words, and the size of her smile, are breadcrumbs to my starving heart, and I take them gladly.
