She was so squirmy, so adorable, trapped between his huge arms as he propped himself over her. Her legs wrapped around him, ankles locking behind his ass, and she tugged him closer.
“I’m not lined up,” he mumbled before kissing her. While his tongue slicked over hers and she teased him in return, he reached between their bodies, fisting himself, and running his head down the seam of her wet pussy.
“Oh, god. Now, Elliott. Please.” Fern lifted her hips, urging him to dipinto her entrance.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t— Or if you do, it will only be for a second. Just fuckingdoit.” Her ankles locked behind his ass again, and she squeezed her legs, urging him into her.
He groaned, unable to form coherent thoughts when she enveloped him.
“Give me all of you,” she demanded.
And he did, sliding into her with an animalistic roar that was half him and half bear. She constricted, pulsing frantically as she adjusted to his size. Eventually, she wriggled, whimpering when he bottomed out.
“Fuck, Fern, I love you,” he breathed, slowly pulling out. Magic was beginning to flood him already, his intent clear without him ever thinking a specific thought.
“I love you,” she replied, using her legs to pull him in again. “I can feel it, I think. Warm, hot, sizzly. And you’re fucking huge.”
They fell into a rhythm, slow and steady, each thrust bringing them closer together, every breath a silent promise to stand by her side always, to support her, to love her, to care for her when she needed him, and even when she didn’t. He loved Fern P. Walsh, and he wanted to keep her forever.
“It’s Patrick, by the way.” He moaned, grinding into her.
“What?” she gasped, raking her nails down his back.
“My middle name.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I was thinking about it—kinda.” Holding himself up on one arm, he drove into her over and over while he squeezed her breasts and explored her smooth stomach.
“Wait—” She shrieked when he rolled his thumb over her clit. “Wait—ElliottPatrickFitzpatrick?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck, oh fuck!” She squealed, half laughing as her pussy tightened around him in a clench that could only mean one thing. “I fucking love you, Elliott Patrick Fitzpatrick.” She gasped, then came with a cry.
He roared along with her, pumping his release into her over and over and over again. “Forever, Fern, forever,” he breathed, muscles shaking as he lay down beside her and pulled her to his chest.
“Forever.” She snuggled into him for a second before she stiffened and arched her back. “Oh, I feel weird. I feel... I should be relaxed, but I’m...?”
“Excessively horny?” he chanced, seeing as blood was currently refilling his cock.
“Yes.”
“Same.” He grinned at the ceiling.
“This is the best day.”
22
Fern doesn’t feel great.
Fernwokewithamoan, dazed and dropping her legs open as she focused on the sensations between them. The pads of warm, calloused thumbs slipped down her outer lips, parting her to the cool air. A breeze from the open window tickled over her skin. Elliott’s rumble, and the lower one of his bear, combined into dreamy polyphonics as he studied her and touched her, tracing around her clit with the tip of a finger, then repeating the action with his tongue.
She fell away from reality, losing herself to his attention. He probably knew she was awake; if not, it was fine—they’d told each other to have at it as needed. The super compelling was freaking intense.
She lost track of how many times they had sex over the past eighteen-or-so hours. There was the bed, the kitchen island, the armchair, the back porch, sleep, the bed again, the couch, more bed, some sleep, and so on.
