At the glory of taking him, having him become a part of me,I closed my eyes.
Snap stroked his hands down the backs of my thighs, pullingthem up as he went, until he reached my knees.He positioned them high at hissides, all this while he moved inside me.
Snapper Kavanaugh was a gentle lover.He liked slow.Heliked taking his time.He liked building things until they were burning bright.He liked to be in the moment, not lost to it.And he guided me there right withhim.
So he moved inside me, deliberate, leisurely, making sure Ifelt it as I took every inch of his length again, then again, and again, allthe while watching me.
Finally, he started kissing me and then he worked my neckand he continued to hold the backs of my knees to control me, hold me back fromcareening into a place he didn’t want us to be, and he made me just feel it.Feel us.His weight.Our bodies’ movements.Our connection surging andretreating.Surging and retreating.Surging.
Through this he tuned to me, built it in me, in both of us,but he knew when he got me there.The kisses became less gentle penetratingstrokes of the tongue, light tastes in the mouth.They drew deeper, twining andjoining.But it was never ravishing.Snap didn’t tongue fuck my mouth.Snapdidn’t fuck at all.With Snap, it was about being fully aware of thetogetherness we were sharing and savoring it in every detail.
It was when the kisses heated up that the strokes of hiscock got faster, the intensity built.Then he released my knees and let me goto devour him, biting and sucking his neck, his lower lip, sinking my nailsinto his flesh, digging my heels into his ass to get more of him, and more, andmore, more,moreuntil I flew high, anchored by his body, his love,his safety.
Which was what happened, or a version of it, no matter if hewas on top, I was on top, I was on my knees, I was against the wall or bentover the back of the couch or whenever and wherever we did it (and once thegates were opened, we did it a lot).
Totally, if Snap was a different kind of guy, the Stingversion of a biker, he’d go tantric.For real.
But he wouldn’t make me do that.
And by the time we got there, no…by the time he took methere, he was so wound up by what I gave him, but I sensed it was more whathe’d given me, that his explosion was—there was no other way to describe it—immaculate.
Muted in noise, concentrated in feeling, his fierce hold onme, the way he stilled buried deep inside me, it was like he reached out anddrew the edges of the very air around us close, forming a little shell where itwas only him and me and making love and finally climaxing.
Shy was an amazing lover.
Beck was no slouch either.
But I’d never had this.I didn’t even know this existed.
What I knew now was that I couldn’t live without it.Notjust the “it” of it, sharing that “it” with Snapper.
“You good?”he whispered, nuzzling my neck.
Was I good?
The way it was at all times with Snapper, I knew now I’dnever be bad.
No matter what life threw at us we’d always make it.
Because he’d make it so we would.
“I’m good,” I whispered back, nuzzling his neck too andholding him to me in all the ways I could, even after he naturally withdrewfrom inside me.
If he finished on top, he always gave as much of his weightto me as he sensed I could bear, and fortunately with my ribs close to fullyhealed, I got to take more and more of him.
But once he did that, he didn’t leave me.
This was something else Snap did.I didn’t know if hepreferred the sex or the intimacy of snuggle time after (okay, he was a guy soit was the sex, but the other was a close second).
He didn’t rush either.
We didn’t talk much.But we touched.We kissed.We held.Wenestled and cuddled and caressed and squeezed.
But even if we didn’t talk much after sex, make no mistake,Snapper Kavanaugh was a talker, and he spoke in two languages, the one where hejust used his mouth and the one where he used absolutely everything.
But even good things had to end, so that morning, like everymorning we’d had when we took what was between us where it was meant to be, hadto end.
“Igottaget going,” he muttered.
