I don’t know why, but it fills me with a little glow that his bedside drawer isn’t full of packets.
“I’m on the pill,” I murmur. “I trust you, and you can trust me.”
He hesitates, looking into my eyes. I can feel his indecision like a ribbon wound tightly around him, keeping him still. I know he wants me, but for this man, Doing The Right Thing is more important than anything else. Or it has been.
I move my hips, just a little, and feel the tip of his erection press very slightly into me.
He groans and closes his eyes. “Beth…”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
He opens his eyes, his lips curving up a little.
“I want you,” I whisper. “I don’t know why that’s a bad thing.”
He touches his lips to my forehead. “It’s not.”
“Do you want me?”
He kisses my nose. “Very much.”
“All the time we’ve wasted…” I feel a twist inside at the thought. “I don’t want to wait any longer.” I move my hips, pushing down a fraction more, and it proves to be his undoing.
He groans, slides his hand to the middle of my back, and holds me against him as he slowly slides inside me.
We both inhale, hold our breaths, then exhale. Ahhh… that feels amazing. The sensation of being filled, right to the top, is physically exquisite. But better than that is the knowledge that this kind, gentle, sexy man who I’ve admired from afar for so long desires me, and wants me, right now. Our passion isn’t caught up in an elaborate web of arguments and passive aggressive comments and bribes; it’s not makeup sex or duty sex or pity sex. This is what true intimacy is. A longing to be close to the other person. A delight in sharing yourself.
Our lips touch lightly, and we kiss as we begin to make love, because even though it sounds soppy and romantic, that’s how it feels.
For a while, we move in unison, him holding me tightly while he thrusts up, but me still managing to rock my hips in tandem with his, while I kiss him and stroke his back and his arms, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my fingers.
His hands glide over my back, my breasts, my butt, my thighs, as he acquaints himself with my shape and skin and muscles, the occasional growl of approval rumbling in his chest.
After a while, he rolls onto his back, bringing me with him, and I push up so I’m sitting astride him. He’s still inside me, and when I get comfortable and begin moving, he closes his eyes blissfully and says, “That feels amazing.”
I brush my hands over his chest and shoulders, admiring the tight muscles, curling hairs, and tanned skin, then take his hands in mine and pin them above his head, saying, “Gotcha.”
“Oh no.” He feigns alarm. “You’ve captured me.”
“You’re at my mercy.”
“Somebody please rescue me.” His lack of enthusiasm makes me laugh, and he smiles as I bend to kiss him.
“You feel so good,” I whisper, kissing up his jaw to his ear and breathing on it.
He sighs. “You look amazing. You’re so beautiful, Beth.”
“Aw.” I kiss back to his mouth, releasing his hands, and he lowers them to hold my hips as he pushes up, deeper inside me. “Ohhh…” I feel the first stirrings of an orgasm, deep inside, and sit upright again, moving with purpose now. He lifts his hands to my breasts, teasing my nipples, and I moan, lowering a hand between my legs.
He swears and says, “Oh yeah, make yourself come.”
It doesn’t take long. Less than thirty seconds later, my climax hits, and I clench around him, gasping with pleasure as the amazing pulses claim me.
When I’m done, I fall forward onto his chest, groaning. “Beautiful girl,” he says, and before I can do anything, he holds me tightly, lifts up, and flips me onto my back.
