Our breath syncs, our gazes colliding. I never... He’s in me, I’m taking him. It’s... everything. I moan, start to move, my hips rising to meet his.
“That’s it,” he says, panting. “Like that.”
A whimper escapes. I clutch him tight, urging him harder, faster. It doesn’t feel strange anymore. It feels necessary.
“August.”
“I’m here.” His mouth moves over mine, not quite a kiss now; we’re too focused on other things. “I’m here, baby. You’re so perfect. So good.”
I find the crook of his neck, kiss and lick the spot where his pulse races. And he whispers words of encouragement and adulation. Cool waves wash over me followed by intense heat. I shiver, fevered with it. Everything is twisting tighter and tighter. My breasts sway against his chest, nipples tight and sensitive. Pleasurehurtsnow. A good, clenching pain that makes me writhe. I’m panting, babbling, I don’t know.
But he has me. Big hands cup my head, cradle me close as he pumps faster, almost frantic now, his hips circling, grinding my swollen clit.
“Baby.” His eyes find mine. “Tell me what you need.”
“I don’t know.” I feel heavy with pleasure but also like I’m flying. It’s sogood. “I...”
He dips his head, hot mouth finding my nipple. I arch, a groan tearing out of me as he sucks, opening his mouth wide to pull as much of me in as he can and thrusts his dick at an angle that hits some spot... Lightning-hot lust streaks along my breast, down into my sex. Pleasure explodes outward. A supernova.
I lose myself. I lose him. There is only here and now. Feeling.
I swell outward and then break apart. A thousand stars.
And then so does he.
I feel the power of him as he comes undone. It feeds me. I come again, screaming my pleasure.
Looking into his eyes, I see the amazed shock, same as mine.
As though he’s thinking the same thing.
I never knew.
Twenty-Seven
Pen
Because we have a hard time keeping our hands off each other, and August’s schedule is so tight, I try swimming with August at his house for my workout.Workoutis probably somewhat of a loose term for me, as I avoid doing certain exercises like the plague, i.e. running or any type of class I’m expected to join in. I tend to go for low-key things—the occasional yoga session from my home app, light weights now and then, or a long hike when it’s nice out—and hope it’s enough to keep me healthy. Swimming, as far as I’m concerned, is a relaxing and easy way to get moving and tone my body.
Not like August does it. While I’m content with an even, turtle-slow breaststroke, he swims freestyle, cutting up the water like a scythe through butter. With his powerful build, and long-ass limbs, he easily outpaces me, doing two laps for my one. I don’t mind. It’s a beautiful thing to see. Inspiring even.
I’m done long before him and sit back on the little rest shelf built along one side of the pool to watch him move. It’s all flashes of lean muscled arms, brown and gleaming wetly in the sun, the round caps of his shoulders, and the gorgeous slope of his back moving in perfect harmony. He never breaks pace or falters.
Endurance.
A delicious shudder goes through me. I know very well howexcellent August Luck’s endurance is. Even now, when he’s busy honing that fine body, I want him. But I can wait. It isn’t easy, but Ican.
I’m patiently sipping lemonade when he finishes, gliding up to the side of the pool to pop up. Water runs in glistening rivulets along the dips and valleys of his body. I bite my lip and look my fill as he gulps down the tumbler of water he left on the pool deck.
God, he’s delicious. Broad chest, tight waist, thick thighs. In deference to his workout, he wears body-hugging swim shorts that hide nothing. I’ve seen everything multiple times now, and it never fails to stir me. His body is art. But something about his particular art stirs my soul like no other.
With a satisfied sigh, he sets the tumbler down and then spots me looking. A gleam flickers in his silver eyes. He’s on me in the next breath, tugging me off the ledge and maneuvering me back against the pool wall. His mouth hot and slick, lips cool in comparison.
Gripping those strong shoulders, I kiss him back, greedily and deeply, loving the way he holds my cheek like I’m precious but ploughs my mouth like he’s fucking it.
Dirty but sweet. My August.
The kiss ends on a breath, mine quick and agitated, his deep and hard. Desire tightens his jaw as he looks me over with the satisfaction of a man who knows exactly how much he affects me, but that’s all right because I affect him just the same.
