It’s a high-speed slide show, a delicious rapid-fire, all the times Vin has slid my panties down my legs and pinned me against a wall.
“Do you remember?” I pant as he starts making out with my pulse point. “Do you remember your birthday?”
He lifts his head and I read in his green eyes that he remembers exactly which birthday I’m talking about. A long time ago, a weekday. He’d come home from work grumpy and tired and I’d dragged him out to dinner and a movie, teasing him the entire time, priming him. Little touches, pretending to brush something off the back of his neck, pressing my chest into him when someone was trying to move past me. Eye contact at dinner, drawing my toe up and down his leg during the movie. I wound him up so tight that he started undoing his belt in the hallway outside our apartment. The door was still swinging closed when he lifted me up and made me pay for working him up so badly.
“Rob’s wedding,” he grunts in reply. And I moan remembering going down on him in a hotel room, and afterward him putting my palms against the cold glass of a window.
“New Year’s three years ago,” I counter. One of Raff’s friends had mistaken me for single and hit on me so aggressively that Vin took me home and kept me on the edge for an hour and a half. I literally begged him to fuck me and when he finally did, I came about forty times in about forty different ways.
Well, that precious memory has him pulling me off the walland striding down the hallway toward the bedroom. We’re making out like this might be our last kiss. We’re using our greatest hits as foreplay.
He kicks the door shut behind us and the slam feels final. Like nothing is allowed in this room but him and me. We’re hashing this out one way or another.
This isn’t his actual childhood bedroom, but it might as well be. There are old family photos lining the walls, a row of yearbooks on one shelf, a faded poster of Yankee Stadium. Now that me and my scar are in this room, everything that has made him into Vin is present and accounted for. I’m surrounded by him in every way possible. Brick by brick, this room and its contents are a scale model of his heart.
Bright sunshine and a little dust. It’s all so, humblingly,seeable.
Here he is, lit from the side, clean-shaven and drawn in clear, expansive lines. Loving the absolute hell out of me.
Also, he’s extremely turned on. He’s just given me a hickey, I can feel it burning on my neck, and now he’s tugging on my shirt, biting at the little heart that holds my two bra cups together. My shirt is slipping against my skin and I’m gasping his name. The button on my jeans slides like velvet and then his hand is under my panties, finding me.
“Fuck.” His voice is harsh and unforgiving, like he’s mad that I’ve been this wet for him and didn’t tell him. His big middle finger slides into me and I arch up into him. He bites my lip and moves his thumb in circles while his middle finger gives me the old come-hither.
This motherfucker knows all the magic tricks that work on me. He’s everywhere, kissing my mouth, nuzzling my ear.
“More,” I cry, and he gets what I mean. He puts his mouth at my ear.
“The first time we came out to this house I fucked you in the back seat of our car so we wouldn’t wake anyone up.”
A spike of pleasure rockets through me. I’m very, very close. “More.”
“Fucking you on the floor when I get home from work.” His words are getting choppy and his hips are pushing into my thigh. I’m almost there.
“More.”
“The first time I put you on your hands and knees you said nobody’d ever hit it like that before.”
And that’s the one that gets me. Because I wasn’t lying back then and I’m not lying now. I’m screaming through clenched teeth, arching and gasping. Even though the only words I can say arefuckandVinover and over again, it’s pretty much the truest thing I’ve ever said in my life.
He teases every last little jump out of me before he pulls back and stands, ripping off his belt and undoing his pants. “You got hopes and dreams for this, baby?”
He’s always pretty dominant, but every once in a while he really hulks out and I am here. For. The. Ride. “Anything you want,” I gasp.
“Good.”
He pulls me by the ankles, yanks my jeans and panties down to my knees, and flips me onto my stomach. My ass gets a friendly slap and then he finds me with his fingers again.
But not for long because holy shit that’s a lot bigger than his fingers and he’s pushing, pushing, pushing into me. His hands plant on either side of my shoulders and his hips start working me inch by inch up the bed.
I’m sensitive and soft and still electrified by fireworks and every slap of his hips against mine is multiplied by a thousand. For a moment I can feel it. Everything he’s held inside thisyear. Every second that he’s wanted me, needed me, and couldn’t have me. I fist the sheets and take it all.
“Give it, Vin.”
I can’t fix his pain, not really. But anything he needs to let free into me right now,thatI can take. Yearning, I can fix for him. It’s absurd to think that this could be an answer for us, but also, of course it is. We’re one thing, Vin and I, a unit. We’re best when we’re on top of each other, in rhythm, taking charge of the other’s needs.
And right now his needs are feral. He collapses down, gives me his weight, slides his arms around me, he couldn’t be closer if he tried. His breath is hot on my neck, my name is on his lips. He’s holding me in place. I’m so his I know he’s about to come before he does.
“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.” He kicks his hips forward and holds. Pushes deeper and then deeper. “Baby.”
