There.
Smooth skin and perfect shapes, toned muscles and wide shoulders—I was salivating as my eyes raced over his torso to see more in the least amount of time possible.
And it still wasn’t enough when he leaned in and pulled my clothes off just as fast, then lowered himself between my legs.
I propped myself up on my elbows, cheeks red, near melting for real, but I had to see it. While he whispered under his breath and planted kisses all over my thighs, Iwatched with my lips parted, mind clear, eyes burning because I refused to blink.
Better than my fantasies,I thought he whispered.Made for me, absolutely made for me—and thenkiss, kiss, bite.
Meanwhile, I was trying my best to not let my head fall back or my eyes roll in my skull, but I only managed to do that until he kissed me right on my center.
Then I fell back—and it felt likereturning.It felt like slipping into my body again, like putting on my own skin after a long time.
Such a strange, strange sensation, but then March nudged my clit with his tongue, and I lost all rational thought.
My hands were in his hair. My hips tried to move, my body on fire, but he had a good grip on my hip and held me down, said something like:let me take my time—don’t rush me—do you have any idea how you taste?
I didn’t care about words, but I wanted more of what he was giving me, and I wanted all of it at once.
But again, March knew my body better than I did because he didn’t rush. He held my hips down and took his time intastingme properly like one tastes their favorite meal, and by the time he picked up the rhythm, I no longer had a sense of time, either. Could have been seconds or minutes or hours before I came with his name on my lips like it had always belonged there, and the feeling was more intense than anything I’d ever made myself feel, even when I thought of him. Even when I tried to imaginethis.My imaginationcould never.
When March started kissing his way up my stomach, climbing higher on the bed, I was completely spent in the best possible way, still reeling with the aftermath of the best orgasm I’d ever had. My eyes were half open, a lazy smile on my face that he kissed with a grin on his own.
“See that? That was perfect. All of it—perfect. How doyou taste like that?” he said in a whisper, planting kisses all over my face while I was still lying on clouds.
I laughed a little. “How do you know how to do that so well? Did you, by any chance,make meyourself?” I said, the words slurred together, but he understood.
And he laughed, too. It was short and sweet, and it pulled strings somewhere deep in my chest that finally cleared my head a little from all that pleasure that had infused my every cell.
It was incredible how much I’dchangedsince lying here, how much power the right way of being touched had. It was all physical, but it was also way deeper than that, something I couldn’t quitecatchwith my mind to name.
“Oh, no. I’m not the one who made you,” he said—and he said it with such certainty that I had to laugh again.
“How do you know? Maybe you did.” He’d convincedme.
“I didn’t. Whoever made you made the stars in the sky and the rivers on the ground, possibly in one breath. Unfortunately, I simply do not have the expertise for that,” he said—in all honesty, too. And my cheeks flushed and I giggled again, and I hid my face under his neck this time, so he had no complaints.
“Oh, you’re good with words. You could get a girl into a whole lot of trouble,” I muttered against his neck, then bit—instinctively. And March pressed himself harder against me with a hiss, and I thought maybe I hurt him but I didn’t. He grabbed my jaw and held me there, and my mouth knew exactly what to do, how to kiss him, how to lick and suck on his soft skin.
My hands moved on their own, too, reached down for his stomach, his smooth skin, the dark curls that formed a line down his chest and bellybutton and disappeared under his trousers.
But before I could reach the button or slip my handunderneath his waistband, March caught my hand and brought it up and kissed my fingertips slowly. Lazily.
“We’ve probably done it before,” I whispered, cheeks on fire still, but I was way past being embarrassed now. I liked the sounds he made and how he reacted to my touch and kisses far too much to care about anything else.
“I know,” he said. “And I want the next time to be ours. Not a memory we’re replaying—ours.We’ll have that if we take our time. If we get to know each other a little bit first. Don’t you think?”
Yes, actually. That was perfectly put, and it made a lot of sense.
I leaned in and kissed his lips the way I hadn’t kissed anything or anyone before—with all of me, the things you could touch and the things you could only feel.
“You’re something else, you know that?” I leaned back and touched his face, ran my fingertip over the heart-shaped curve of his lips, the tip of his nose. My heart was about to explode right there in my ribcage when our eyes locked.
All those colors. All the beautiful shapes and silhouettes they made.
“I want to know what you’re thinking. All the time,” he whispered. “Tell me about you.”
“Well, what do you want to know?” I’d tell him in detail, if he only wanted to hear it. I’d hold nothing back.
