“Fuck,” he groans when he’s fully seated, his hips flush against my ass. “You feel incredible. Every time. How is it better every time?”
“Because you keep making me wait for it.”
He laughs, the sound strained with pleasure, and pulls out almost completely before sliding back in with the same torturous slowness. “Patience is a virtue.”
“Patience is overrated.”
But even as I say it, I understand what he’s doing. This afternoon was about release—about finally giving in to months of tension. This is about connection. About learning each other. About proving that this isn’t just physical.
He sets a rhythm that’s almost meditative. Long, deep strokes that drag against every nerve ending. His body covers minecompletely, his weight a comforting pressure, his mouth at my ear.
“I love you,” he murmurs, and the words send a different kind of pleasure through me. “I love you so fucking much, Josie.”
“I love you too.” My voice catches. “Boone—I love you too.”
“I know.” He reaches beneath me, finding my clit, rubbing in slow circles that match his thrusts. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
The pleasure builds slowly, inexorably. Layer upon layer of sensation—his cock stroking deep inside me, his fingers working my clit, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth hot against my ear. I’m moaning into the pillow, my hands fisting in the sheets, my whole body tightening around him.
“That’s it.” His voice is strained now, his control starting to fray. “Come for me, Josie. Come with me inside you.”
I shatter with a sob, the pleasure crashing through me in endless waves. He follows seconds later, groaning my name, his hips stuttering as he spills inside me.
We lie there for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, still connected. He’s heavy on top of me, but I don’t want him to move. I want to stay like this forever—pinned beneath him, filled with him, completely his.
Eventually, he softens enough to slip free, and he rolls onto his back with a groan, pulling me against his chest.
“That was...” I trail off, unable to find the words.
“Worth taking our time.” He presses a kiss to my hair. “How do you feel?”
“Like I never want to move again.”
“Good.” His hand traces lazy patterns on my hip, his touch now gentle rather than demanding. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
“There’s more?”
“I told you.” He tilts my chin up, brushing a soft kiss across my lips. “All night. And I’m a man of my word.”
True to his word, he’s insatiable.
After a brief rest—during which I doze against his chest while he plays with my hair—he wakes me with kisses down my spine and coaxes me onto my side. We make love face-to-face, legs intertwined, moving together in a slow rhythm that feels more like dancing than fucking.
“I can see you,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed to mine. “I can watch you fall apart.”
“Is that what you want? To watch me?”
“I want everything.” He hitches my leg higher over his hip, changing the angle. “Every expression. Every sound. Every shudder and moan.”
“Possessive.”
“Absolutely.”
He draws it out until I’m begging, then brings me over the edge with a twist of his hips and a thumb on my clit that makes me see stars.
Afterward, we raid the mini-fridge—bottles of water and leftover pizza eaten naked in bed, laughing at nothing, talking abouteverything. The sheets are a disaster, tangled at the foot of the bed, but neither of us cares.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he says, licking pizza sauce off his thumb.
