“I don’t want to wait,” I panted. “I want you now.”
“You want to enjoy it,” Rowe corrected me sternly. I had a feeling this was going to be the way things would go. That he would look after me – look out for me – make sure I wasn’t putting myself at risk or selling myself short.
And I wanted nothing more.
I didn’t protest again as he dipped his fingers around the rim of my hole, coated in the fluid substance, circling it around and around until I was coated and throwing my head back in need. He slowly eased the tip of his finger inside me, pulled it out and pushed in again, so gentle and slow and careful that it was almost unbearable. It didn’t matter that I was ready enough already. It was an act of care, of consideration, and I knew Rowe wouldn’t have skipped it for the world if there was even a slim chance I might be uncomfortable.
Finally, after what felt like altogether too long, something else nudged at my entrance – something longer, harder, thicker. I looked down at our bodies, Rowe lined up to fuck me as I lay on my back – just the way he’d said he liked it best – and a shudder ran the whole length of me.
“You okay?” Rowe asked, pausing, watching me.
“I think this is the most okay I’ve ever been,” I said, and couldn’t help but flutter my eyes shut as he pushed himself inside me so slow and sweet that I thought he would never bottom out.
But he did, and it was glorious, and it was everything, and he was everything, and I had never been so complete.
“Rowe,” I said, his name like a mantra, like a prayer, like a sacred chant. He drew out and thrust inside me again and I said his name, over and over until I was crying it out, until I was screaming it, my hands fisting in the sheets. I lifted my hips to meet him as much as I could, scrambling for control enough to make my body do what it wanted, every other thrust driving me so wild it was all I could do to lay there senseless and drowning in sensation.
“Baby,” Rowe said, looking deep into my eyes as he kept up his rapid-fire thrusts. I could see all over his face how good it was for him, how much he enjoyed me, how good I made him feel. “Baby, I want you to cum. Cum for me.”
I felt broken apart by his words, searing down through me, taking me to pieces and putting me back together again. It wasn’t sex talk. Not idle words. Not the kind of thing you said when you wanted to hurry up a sexual encounter that was taking too long.
He meant it. Every word. He wanted me to cum only becausehe wanted me to cum. To have pleasure. To feel good.
He wanted to look into my eyes and see written on my face how good he’d made me feel, just the same way I relished seeing it in him.
“Oh, god,” I said, and one more thrust into that cluster of nerves inside me that contained magic, and I was lost, gone, untethered. The rush of ecstasy swept through me as I came without so much as a hand on my dick, white globs spurting through the air to land warm on my sweat-slicked chest.
Rowe sped up his movements, spurred on by the sight of me undone under him, and I watched his face, fighting hard to keep my eyes open and focused even as I rode the high of the aftershocks. I watched him find his rhythm, come to the edge and teeter over it, and then plunge – his eyes connected with mine as the most potent of pleasures rose up inside them, taking over and sending his face tense then slack as he pumped erratically into me, finding his release.
For a moment there was just the sound of our breathing, ragged pants filling the air.
Rowe pulled out slowly, and I reached out to grab his arm. “Stop,” I said. “Please. I like it.”
Rowe hesitated, studying my face. “What do you like?”
“That feeling,” I panted. “The fullness. You, inside me.”
Rowe waited a moment, but only a moment, only to humor me. “You know I’m coming back, don’t you?” he said.
I blinked at him, hazy, my breathing coming back towards even. “What?”
“If I pull out, it’s not over,” he said. “I’m coming back to you. And I’ll be here again. You’ll feel this again.”
I swallowed a lump down my throat, the sting at the back of my eyes so familiar today. “You will?”
Rowe leaned over me, the motion causing me to whimper, the renewed pressure on sensitive flesh. He pressed a kiss to my lips, tender and careful – a promise. “I will,” he murmured.
I nodded then. He pulled out and disappeared into what had to be the bathroom; a second later he returned with a damp washcloth. I went to take it from him and he batted my hand away, cleaning me up himself.
“Just rest there,” he said, even though I was sure he was the one who should be resting. A minute later the washcloth was flung back into the bathroom and Rowe climbed up onto the bed beside me, scooping me into his arms.
“This is real,” I said. It wasn’t a question. More of a realization.
“It’s real,” Rowe said softly and kissed me on the forehead.
“You could move in with me,” I blurted out. “I have lots of room. Enough, anyway.”
Rowe’s deep chuckle resonated through me as he pulled me close against his chest. “No, Xavi.”
