All you need is someone who would dedicate his entire being to giving you pleasure in the moment.
He brought me to my first orgasm before he entered me from behind.
An unpermitted moan tumbled out of my mouth. He grabbed my waist and stepped back while still inside me, walking me toward a TV stand across the room so I could bend over for him completely. Then he started pounding into me, fast and deep. My second orgasm hit me so hard I barely noticed him pulling out and finishing inside his palm behind me. Achilles groaned, striding into the bathroom and returning a few moments later with his pants immaculately zipped and two bottles of water in his hands. He handed me one. “All good?”
I pushed my dress down my waist and took the bottle from him. “Yup.”
Jesus, why was I feeling…why was Ifeeling? Sadness, of all emotions, if you could believe it. But I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted his forgiveness after remembering he could be soft when he wanted to be.
“Tierney.”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
Rolling my eyes, I unscrewed the bottle cap and took a swig, giving him my back and swaggering to the bedroom. “Achilles, I don’t have time for this sh?—”
He grabbed my shoulder and swiveled me around, panting hard. Now he was staring at my face, not hiding what was plainly written all over it. Since the first time we’d broken up, I hadn’t seen any kind of emotion on his face, and I forgot the effect it had on me.
“You’re upset,” he growled.
I snorted. “No.”
“Why?” He ignored my denial.
Because you didn’t kiss me. Because you bring me to an orgasm without hurting me, which never happened before. Because this entire weekend makes me feel like I’m a loose thread pulled at the seam, unraveling into oblivion, and once you stop tugging me apart, I’ll be left bare and vulnerable and devastated. Because I’m confused, even though I shouldn’t be. You’re still the same man who’d kill me before he’d let himself admit that he’s in love with me.
“Why?” he repeated, grabbing my face in his rough hands, his forehead pressed into mine. I inhaled him. Watched those scars I put on his face. And told him the truth.
“Because I can’t blame you for not forgiving me. I haven’t forgiven myself, eith?—”
He crashed his lips to mine, grabbing the back of my neck and smushing our faces together. I yelped in surprise. Eleven years of hunger, desperation, and frustration poured into this kiss, which started more feral than any fuck I’d ever participated in.
Our teeth slammed together, making him split his lower lip in the process, and blood leaked from the broken skin. I scooped it with a groan, my fingers twisting in his onyx hair and tugging him close. His tongue punishingly stroked the inside of my mouth, licking every corner to satisfaction. We kissed like the world was ending, pouring every single emotion we’d bottled up for years into that kiss. I rubbed my body against his, clamped my mouth on his tongue and sucked it like it was his cock.
We stumbled into the bedroom, still locked in this breathless kiss.
I released his lower lip with a pop, the salty taste of his blood flooding my senses and drugging me into a lull.
“Fuck me,” I demanded.
He was already hard and easing me onto the mattress, pressing the hard planes of his body against me.
“Only if you don’t break the kiss.” He fused his lips with mine once again.
“I hate you,” I moaned into his mouth. A reminder to myself, not to him.
“I hate you, too.” He slammed into me, going deep, right at an angle that hit my G-spot. “So much sometimes it hurts.”
And yet, we didn’t break the kiss once. Not when I came, and not when he did.
Three hours later, we lay spent in sheets that reeked of sex.
“Tierney?” His voice entwined in the darkness like that was where it belonged.
“Yes?”
“I forgive you.”
