She’s helpless now. I own this woman under me. She can barely talk. Barely stand.
“I’m here,” I say. “You can come. I’m here.”
She calls out and convulses under me, and I can’t help but think how she’s giving herself to me in that moment. The thought pushes me over the edge of the cliff, and I thrust into her and release at last.
My arms wrapped around her waist, I pant, trying to catch my breath, trying to keep us both upright.
My God. She. Is. Everything.
I discard the condom, then scoop her up in my arms and carry her into my bedroom.
I set her on the bed. “Do you want water?” I press a kiss on her forehead, and she blushes and shakes her head.
“What we’ve just done, and it’s a kiss on the forehead that makes you blush?”
She shrugs and reaches for me. I scoot in next to her, and we lie in each other’s arms while we recover. She draws circles on my arm with her finger, and my cock begins to lengthen. This woman could gut fish on a fishing boat in bad weather, and it would turn me on. There’s nothing about her that wouldn’t make me want to fuck her.
She eyes my erection like she’s a kid in a sweet shop. Then, with me lying next to her, she opens her legs.
I chuckle. “Again? So soon? You ready not to be able to walk tomorrow?”
“I’m ready not to be able to walk ever again if it means you’re going to fuck me.”
I groan and grab another condom.
I want to enjoy her body, suck and bite and play, but at the moment, I can’t see straight. I just need to be inside her. I need to fuck her. It’s like we’re making up for lost time or something. I have to have her.
I kneel to roll on the condom, and she shifts on the bed. I glance up, and her fingers dip down to her pussy.
I groan at her touching herself. In another lifetime, I’d be happy just to sit here and watch her. But right now, I grab her wrist and feed her fingers into my mouth, suckling them, tasting her delicious wetness.
“I want exclusive rights to make you come tonight,” I growl out.
A smile curves at the edge of her mouth. “Yes, sir.”
“Fuck, Lucy,” I curse, grabbing her thighs and pulling her toward me. “You trying to make me come before I’m even inside you?”
She presses her mouth into a thin line. “You think I could ... sir?”
I push into her and shift so my body’s over hers. “I think you could make me come just by looking at me.”
“So I’m not a demonic witch anymore?” she asks.
I thrust into her again, and her fingernails dig into my shoulders. “May you always be a demonic witch, Lucy Jones. You don’t see me complaining.”
“If I’m a witch, you’re the devil himself,” she says on a laugh.
“But I’m your devil,” I say.
Our gazes lock. We’re teasing each other, but at the same time we’re telling each other something profound. I accept her exactly as she is. I know her. And I’m hers.
In this moment, it’s all true. I feel completely connected to her, completely open to her, and completely dedicated to her.
“Hunter,” she says, her tone reverent this time.
I press my lips to hers, and our tongues slip together like we’re sealing some kind of promise. Like this became less about urgent fucking, physical need, and desperate release and more about a union. A joining of minds, bodies, and souls.
Pleasure rachets up like a car climbing the summit of a roller coaster. Our kisses turn sloppy and wayward. There’s too much to focus on, too much to feel.
