“No, but I think I can feel it,” I say, and press against the bulge in his jeans.
“As much as I like seeing you in the skirt, I think I’d rather see you without it on.”
I lift Tyler’s shirt over his head, smiling at his muscled chest and running my hands over it. He attempts to unzip my skirt and pull me toward the couch at the same time.
Something goes wrong. We’re kissing, and touching, and tugging at clothing. The next thing I know, I’m falling forward, and Tyler’s falling over the end of the couch, his arms cradling me before we land. Hard. On the ground. He lets out a light grunt on impact.
“Oops,” he says with a chuckle, and looks up at the couch. “I missed.” His hands move back to where they were on my underwear, my skirt hiked up because he got impatient with the zipper.
I’m busy unfastening his pants when I sense a jerk at my hip and hear a tear. “Did you just rip my panties?”
“Shhh,” he says, and takes my mouth with his. His hand slips to the place pulsating between my legs, fingers expertly working their magic.
I moan, and start shoving down his jeans with my hands, then with my feet when I get them low enough.
With his jeans around his ankles, boxer briefs out of the way, I grab him and stroke.
Tyler moans, his strong arm lifting me up so I’m hovering above him, that finger never stopping its delicate dance. I lower myself, leaning over to gently bite his lip, because he’s hot and the sensation of the tip of him entering me is killing me in all the best ways.
His finger doesn’t stop its gentle swirl where we’re connected. He’s a multitasker, and God, do I appreciate it.
Tyler’s head tips back as my pace quickens, my breathing growing ragged. I am soooo close. It’s been too long, and I missed him. Missed this.
And then I’m there.
Exploding, gasping, moaning. My belly clenching and heaving out of control.
I’m no expert on orgasms, but I’m pretty sure this one is an eleven on a scale of one to ten.
As soon as my senses return to earth, Tyler’s tempo increases, his finger shifting from its lovely place at the core of my pleasure to my hip, where he leverages with both hands to drive into me.
My inner walls clench at the sensation of him growing bigger. He feels so good.
Tyler tenses, his grip on my hips tightening, a deep, guttural groan erupting from him.
He stares reverently into my eyes, his breathing heavy. He runs his hands up my sides, pulling me down until I’m lying flat on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat a rapid drum beneath my ear.
That’s when I realize we’re halfway on the kitchen vinyl and halfway on the living room rug. Or Tyler is.
I’m on top of my hot boyfriend. And truly happy.
It’s Tyler, and it’s me in a good place, despite all that’s happened. It’s both of us.
Together.
Tyler
“You ruined my panties,” Mira says.
I kiss her forehead, tightening my hold on her as she lies on top of me. “Sorry.”
She looks up and raises her brow.
“Okay, not really. It was fun tearing them off.”
She yawns like she’s going to fall asleep. On the living room floor—kitchen—whatever, somewhere that’s hard and not at all comfortable. Which I can’t seem to care about right now, because I’m still inside her, and there is no better place to be. “Guess we got carried away, huh?”
She rests her head on her hands folded above my chest. “Yeah.”
