Not that I didn’t want it.
Like a peppermint mocha in the middle of December or a coconut cold brew on the first day of June, I absolutely fucking wanted it.
Butheinsisted otherwise, which I obviously tooksupppperrrrrwell by trying to pull away from him and out of the moment and out of the situation completely.
Thayne wasn’t having that though.
The more he could see me internalizing what I viewed to be rejection, the more he reassured me it was about timing.
That he didn’t want me to regret flying through a whole season between the sheets in one night.
That he wanted it to mark thestartof something real and meaningful and lifechanging versus something I could easily pass off as simple touch starvation.
Andthat’sa real thing!
People do all sorts of crazed and impulsive things when they’re starving for connection – physical, emotional, mental – and Thayne was adamant about proving that’s not what was happening between us.
Whatever we’re brewing is Tina Turner deep.
His words.
The arm draped across my stomach possessively flexes at the same time a kiss lovingly lands near the nape of my neck. “Mornin’, Gillybean.”
Another tender press presents itself against my skin next to the first prompting me to airily coo in return, “Good morning, Jukes.”
“It definitely is if I get to wake up next to you,” he proclaims, hold tightening once more as his swollen cock casually brushes itself along the curve of my ass cheeks. “All of me thinks so, Slayer.”
Calling me Slayer – the proper term given to Dalvegan Dragon’s wives and long-term girlfriends – is something that should probably receive a whistle.
Be called a penalty.
It’s not a flirty little label like rocket or sniper or stud summoner.
It’s one filled with purpose and stronger meaning and very clear intentions.
It’s basically a word wedding ring.
You only give it to the one who belongs on your permanent roster.
Not the amateur rookie still trying out.
Thayne’s fingers slowly drift lower as his dick indulges in another small rocking, this one leaving precum in its wake. “You feel that?” He casually sways again ensuring that I do. “You feel how every inch,” word immediately emphasized by his long, thick shaft languorously dragging itself the length of my ass yet again, “of me wants you?” Considering a response isn’t even a possibility courtesy of his finger lightly caressing my clit. “Does every inch of you,” feathery brushes summon soft whimpers, “want me, Slayer?”
“Yes,” escapes alongside the mindless spreading of my thighs.
“Right…” the dipping of his finger inside is accompanied by his hot breath against my ear,“here?”
Instinct has me reaching behind me.
Latching onto his locks.
Arching my back.
Airily huffing and grinding my hips.
“You want me deep,” he devilishly curls the digit during another ardent thrust, “in the most beautiful pussy I’ve ever seen?”
Blushing and flushing fuses together not only prompting me to keep my eyes screwed shut but my words trapped in my throat.
