‘Hold up there,’ he breathed, circling my waist and moving us back onto the bed, letting me fall back, holding himself over me. ‘I said I had something for you before the belt comes off.’
On the verge of grabbing him and forcing him back into our kiss, instead I inhaled as he gently undid the tie on my robe and opened it out, running his fingers over my breasts and down, not stopping until they slipped between my thighs and I gasped again.
‘Oh fuck, honey,’ he moaned, feeling just how wet I’d become.
‘What something do you have for me?’ I asked breathlessly, barely able to breathe as he began to circle his fingers there.
‘The promise I made in the truck,’ he whispered, leaning down to kiss my jaw. I arched my neck to his touch as his fingers slid into me.
‘Oh, holy shit . . .’ I moaned, unable to help myself as he made his way down my body, pausing at my breasts. ‘Get your clothes off, now.’
He chuckled, making slow, painfully wonderful small circles with his fingers inside me.
‘Not yet, sweetheart.’
And slowly, using one arm to hold me down, his mouth reached my hips, nipping and kissing the skin as he worked across, joining his fingers with his tongue.
In less than a minute I was barely in control, coming hard as he fucked me with his hand, giving me only another minute to pause, stroking the inside of my thigh as I tried to breathe before he began again. Ignoring my half-hearted protest and insistence on being fucked properly, this time he just used his mouth. So gentle at first, growing more insistent as I felt myself building up again.
‘I want you,’ I murmured, running my fingers through his hair.
But he ignored me, instead using his tongue inside me until I came again, only partly stifling a cry with my arm over my face.
‘Now,’ he murmured, the sound of his belt buckle finally opening, the zip following. I watched, eyes half-closed, as he took off his shirt, his jeans and boxers dropping together as he shrugged everything off. ‘I’m willing to wait to use this,’ he said, gripping his cock. ‘So if you’ve had enough, or it’s too much . . .’
‘Don’t you dare go anywhere,’ I breathed, my core muscles having long melted into the bed, preventing me from sitting up to reach it myself. ‘Now fuck me properly.’
His eyes wild, he leant back over me, using his hands to turn me gently until I was on my front, pulling my hips back up towards him.
‘Don’t be gentle,’ I hissed as he teased the end of his cock against me, wanting him, needing him to . . .
I gasped as he entered me, no hint of gentle touch. He slammed against me and I cried out with him, impatiently waiting for him to do it again, and again, and again.
‘I don’t know if I’ll ever have the patience to fuck you slowly,’ he moaned as I stifled a cry again, his movements becoming rougher, his fingers inching forward to stroke me around his cock.
‘Jesse,’ I moaned, only half aware of what I was saying. ‘Don’t ever stop – I only want you.’
He came in the same moment, the sensation of his cock pumping into me as he finished. We collapsed together, just breathing into the cotton sheets as I tried to piece my thoughts back together.
‘Did you mean that?’ he murmured a minute later, turning his head towards me, the skin above his cheekbones flushed.
I knew what he meant; I could still feel the truth of it etched into every pore of my skin. But now, in the quiet calm, it took on new meaning.
I nodded, just holding his gaze as he moved closer to my face, his lips now brushing mine with such care, such a worshipful touch, that I was suddenly terrified of what he might say.
‘Want me to run us a bath?’ I said, jumping in before he could say anything else. At his raised eyebrow, I added, ‘I could fuck you all day, cowboy, but even I need a break in between.’
He chuckled, nodding.
I half expected the bath to turn into an action replay, but instead it felt . . . relaxing. He told me about his day and I reciprocated, lying back against him, my head resting on his shoulder.
‘What’s your real hair colour?’ he asked suddenly, continuing to twirl strands of it.
I laughed at the realization.
‘Actually, it’s not dissimilar to your hair colour,’ I said, turning back to see his face. ‘A kind of dark, dirty blonde.’
‘The best kind,’ he murmured, running a finger over my chest, around the outline of the headless horseman. ‘And I still haven’t had a full tat tour,’ he noted. ‘The first time I see you fully naked, and I don’t know what half of it means.’
