He’s right. I can be this still, but it’s torture, and it doesn’t take long before it brings me right to the brink of orgasm. I love this feeling. The edge right before I come, the razor-thin moment of time where I’m nowhere and everywhere at once. Where I cease to be, when it’s only my body and its sensations.
I come.
He holds me through it and then shudders through his entire body, still buried tight inside me. His own groan is muffled against my neck, and he holds me tight as he comes inside me.
I squeeze my eyes tight to stop the tears that threaten to leak out. I feel too hot all over and boneless, sinking into the mattress like a wrung-out towel.
“Darling,” he says, and brushes his hand over my cheek. “Darling, look at me.”
I shake my head. He groans and shifts me, pulls me so that I’m lying flat on top of his long body. My breasts smoosh against his chest, the warmth of his skin and chest hair, the heat of his length against my stomach. I bury my face against his neck.
“Don’t look,” he says, and a large hand cups my head. “But stay. Can you do that for me? Then we’ll go for a morning swim. Together.”
I nod against his neck. I’ve never come like that before.
Not in a frenzy, but in a slow, meandering walk toward intimacy.
His hands start stroking over my body again, not to arouse, but to soothe. I walk my fingers through his chest hair.
“I’m going to want to do that again,” he tells me. “You’re gorgeous. You know that, right? And you come so beautifully.”
I close my eyes, and it’s almost too much, the kindness. But it fills me up too and makes me want to cry.
“I’m going to eat you out later,” he murmurs against my hair. “I need your taste on my tongue. It’s hard to believe I’ve only done that once. What an oversight on my part.”
I laugh and turn to my side. “That can be arranged.”
“Mhm. Thank God.”
His hands continue to stroke. One of them finds the curve of my breast, and his ring glints in the sunshine. It’s not his wedding band. It’s the other one, the one I’ve wondered about.
“What is this ring?” I ask. I stroke over his hand and find the worn gold face of it. I wiggle at it until it slides right off. “I saw that the other guys had these too. Your friends.”
“Mhm. They do.”
I turn it over to face me. It’s a signet ring, with a B in the center. It’s worn, like it’s been on his finger for a long time. I turn it over. That’s when I catch the inscription on the back.
“Per dolum…? There’s something Latin in here.”
“Per dolum vincimus,” he says. His leg slides between mine, and against my hip, I can feel him starting to harden again. It makes me smile.
But he’ll have to wait a little longer. “This is from your boarding school? Belmont Academy.”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s not the school’s official motto. That’sper arduum floremus. Through Hardship We Flourish.” His lips find my neck. “We inverted it. Through Deceit We Conquer.”
“You did not.”
“Yes. James paid attention in Latin class.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. I already spoke three languages.”
“Show off.”
