When I come back to myself, it’s to find Keegan above me, holding himself just off my body, his arm muscles bulging. He looks as bemused and as shell-shocked as I feel. I can feel him, hard and hot, nestled against my core. I shift my hips, rocking the slick folds of my pussy along the length of his cock.
He groans, his eyes closing, but he reaches down, clamping a hand on my hip to still me.
He breathes out slowly, eyes still closed as he mutters, almost under his breath. “Please stop.”
“Stop?” I ask.
His eyes flicker open, still looking dazed. “Yeah. I’m going to need you to not move for a couple of minutes, otherwise this is going to be over really fucking quick.”
I bite down on my lip, trying to buck my hips again, but he holds me still. “I don’t mind quick. I don’t think I’m in a position to complain about quick considering just how quick I was.”
“Maybe.” He leans down, kissing me, and I can taste myself on his lips. “But I’ve waited too long for this to rush now.”
I run my hands up his chest, wanting to touch every inch of his body, every perfect muscle he’s been hiding from me. Wanting to touch him. To revel in the flex and strain of muscles and flesh.
He abandons my hip to grab both my hands in his, his gaze pinning me. “Wait. I’m serious.”
His tone is hard. Intense in a way it usually isn’t. Like he’s scolding me. Chastising me for breaking some rule I didn’t realize he’d made.
“I’m tired of waiting.”
He searches my face, his gaze catching and holding mine. Whatever desperate neediness he sees there seems to satisfy him. The single arm he’s holding himself up with is trembling now, and he releases my hands to shift his balance. On a sigh, he lowers himself again. Then stills just before his body comes back into contact with mine.
“I need a condom.”
“Please tell me you have one.”
He nods, briefly rolling off me to grab his pants. I watch as he pulls a condom from his wallet, and although I know it shouldn’t be sexy to pause like this, it somehow is.
The way the light highlights the lines and shadows of his body is amazing, and I’m itching to run my fingers over the plains and valleys of his abs. The ridges of his hips and the divots on the sides of his ass. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to crawl over to him and nibble him.
He tears the foil with his teeth then, turns toward me as he rolls the condom over his cock, and fuck if it’s not one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen—Keegan walking toward me as he holds his cock, his hand trailing up and down its length as one knee lands on the bed is an image I won’t forget. Ever.
I lean forward, half sitting as I reach for him, unable to keep my hands from him for a moment longer. My fingers twine around his neck, bringing him in for a kiss as he crawls up me, repositioning us so he’s settled between my thighs once more.
He notches himself at my entrance, and then he’s kissing me. Lips and tongues, teeth and groans—we kiss as he slides all the way inside me. It’s been a while, and he’s big and it’s tight, and I’m full and it’s everything. I’m glad we’re kissing, so I can keep my eyes shut as I adjust.
And then he starts to move. I wrap one leg up around his waist, the position opening me up more, so the root of his cock presses to my clit with every thrust. Everything is still so tender, still buzzing, from my first out-of-body climax, that all of this new pressure is almost too much. And then he starts talking again.
“Fuck, Meg. You feel so damn good. So good. So perfect. So fucking right.”
My climax slams into me, and I call Keegan’s name. It is part plea, part praise.
His own orgasm pulls my name from his lips, and it sounds like so much more than just my name.
chaptertwenty-one
I’m notgreat with change.
Back in college, I saw a therapist for a while, mostly because it was covered under the university’s health care and because I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford it with whatever salary I would start with fresh out of college. Talking to a therapist while it was essentially free seemed like the fiscally responsible thing to do.
When my six weeks were up, I didn’t know anything I hadn’t known going into it. Namely: I have trust issues relating to my parents’ divorce, I resist change, and (to use my mom’s phrasing) I’m stubbornly independent. All of that seemed pretty obvious.
And, honestly, none of that seemed bad to me. Doesn’t everyone have trust issues of some kind? People without trust issues end up being catfished or sending all their money to “buy” a gold mine in Bolivia or something. And independence (stubborn or not) is a good thing.
My independence meant that, when Ollie and I broke up, I still had my career and my condo and I didn’t end up living out of a van. Not that I have a van, but you see my point.
Independence is good.
