Page 20 of If You Like It, I Love It

He presses his middle finger against my seam, applying pressure as it glides up and down until it’s slick with my arousal, and then he teases it around my swelling clit. My hips inch upward to encourage him, but his finger moves down again, leaving me throbbing.

“So wet.” The rasp in his voice abrades my nerve endings in the best way—like a rugged hand touching me in all the right places. All at once.

“Not as wet as the last time your hand was there,” I tease.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t let a finger slip inside then . . . I might’ve been a lot harder to get rid of.”

“I don’t recall trying to get rid of you.”

“I recall wanting to stay. Wanting to see more of you, touch you freely. . . deeply.” He adds a second finger and definitely goes deeper. “To taste your kiss. And this soft, sweet pussy.”

My clenching reflex isn't strong enough to trap his fingers inside me, but the constriction holds for a beat as I watch him, unsure if he'll lift them, glistening from my arousal, to his mouth or slide to his knees for a taste.

They disappear into his mouth before he pulls them free slowly, pressing his lips against them they way I extract the tines of a fork after eating a bite of cheesecake. When his tongue traces the inner rim of his bottom lip, the hummingbirds in my core all flit in different directions.

A significant portion of them head south, forcing a beating-wing vibration through my clit. It’s sharp and fleeting, and my body responds with a trickle of warmth that I ache to feel spilling onto his tongue instead of being wasted on my comforter.

He kisses me again, not as voraciously as before, but there’s no trepidation. Our mouths fall into a cadence that already feels familiar. When his lips leave mine to trail down my neck, my head lolls to the side. His muscular arm flexes at my cheek to hold his weight, and I can’t resist kissing his bicep. Goosebumps rise on his skin when my lips break contact, and I feel the same happening on mine as his warm breath travels closer to my nipple.

When the heat of his mouth surrounds my stiff peak, he lowers his body a few inches and settles into a new position. My hip flexors tremble when his tongue massages over my nipple as he sucks on it, gently at first . . .

The arch in my back increases with his intensity, and my fingers curl into his hair. His head tilts, and the tips of his dark waves tickle my skin, sending a more noticeable shiver through my core. His kisses follow the same path down my body, warming and calming my muscles.

And then his head drops between my legs, his tongue tracing around my clit before he shifts lower to delve inside me. He seals his mouth against my skin, his jaw working with enough pressure that his teeth inadvertently scrape against me—no pain, just the recurring hardness of them contrasting his hot, soft tongue licking and probing.

His mouth pulls away to make room for his fingers to enter me again, coaxing my juices to trickle over my skin, warm as they leave my body, but cooling instantly under the ceiling fan—another contrast to heighten my senses.

Every sensation becomes acute. The hardening of my clit is unmistakable under his tongue now. He rolls it between his lips, and my hips rock against his mouth. His fingers plunge more forcefully into my pussy with every thrust.

He waits until my breathing shallows to suck my clit fully into his mouth. My hips go higher until my heels lift and my quads lock, forcing my shoulders into the mattress. The tingling starts in my toes and rapidly sizzles up my legs, a lit fuse burning too fast to track, the detonation exploding in my core like the finale to a professional fireworks display. Every burst feels so good it hurts—immaculate contrast—sensations accentuated by my broken, high-pitched shrieks until I’m left panting on my back, feeling the falling sparks on my skin and seeing colors I can’t name when I close my eyes.

I’m still trying to catch my breath when his smile hovers over my face for the briefest moment before he initiates another kiss. It’s slow, but intense. Enzo’s not gentle, but he’s intentional and passionate in ways that I’ve gone without for so long they feel entirely new.

Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, but I’m not sad. I’m surprised. Overwhelmed. Happy—blissfully fucking happy to be alive and in this bed with him right now.

His heavy cock pushes inside me, and his groan is quiet, but not soft. It’s guttural without sounding harsh. Everything he does, every sound he makes is smooth and comforting, even as the thickness of his erection challenges my physical comfort with each new inch he presses forward. The stretch is exquisite, though I know this is likely to sting at some point. For now, it feels incredible, and I want to enjoy every second of it, every complement and contrast alike.

I blink back fresh, happy tears, lost in his kiss, but mimicking his gyrations, rising up to meet his long strokes. This is more intimacy than I would’ve believed I’d allow, but the closeness is intoxicating.

I’ve barely begun to feel the sting when he stops kissing me and pushes up onto his hands, fully extending his arms. A thin sheen of sweat spreads across his forehead. His hips change course, stop rolling and start slamming forward, driving into me faster and harder. The sudden intense swell of his dick is noticeable for a flash before he lets go, his sounds and movements turning rough for the first time.

A few aftershocks rock through his body almost as intensely as the first feral wave of his orgasm. He’s always attractive, but in those moments, any countenance of youth that has made me feel uneasy about my attraction to him disappears behind something too raw and magnetic to be defined by age.

Some things are unique to the person, not the calendar, accelerated by life experiences or some innate knowing that not every man attains, no matter how long he lives. However Enzo came about that depth, I hope it didn’t leave deep scars. If there’s pain behind it, he channels it into something beautiful. And God, is he beautiful.

10

Enzo

I wake up with one of my legs flung over Joni’s body, trapping her next to me. She’s asleep despite the weighted restriction. I figure she would’ve shoved my leg off her if it was bothering her, so she must be comfortable being wrapped up like this. She’s sleeping so soundly, but as much as I love being this close to her, I need to get up and get out of here.

I have a feeling she’s going to want to keep this quiet. If it were up to me, I’d rent a fucking billboard and pronounce us a couple, but I can be her dirty little secret until she catches up. Last night was fun, but it was just the beginning. She’ll see.

My intention is to quietly lift my jeans from the floor, but the buckle of my belt thuds against the rug when I grab them.

Joni’s eyes blink a few times before she pushes herself up against the headboard and rubs them, yawning like sleep doesn’t want to let go of her. I didn’t either. She looks amazing with her hair a mess and the sheet loosely draped over her.

“Morning, beautiful,” I say softly, hoping not to fully wake her. There’s no reason for her to get up this early. Unless she has to work today. I have no idea what’s on her schedule, just know I want to cause as little interruption as possible.