Strong Enough - Page 54

He kissed me, his tongue teasing between my lips. “I want this to be everything you imagined.”

But I hadn’t imagined anything even close to this.

Slowly, with control that shocked me, I began to roll my hips, easing in and out of that unbelievable heat. He moaned against my lips, and I loved the sound of it so much, I moved a little faster, a little harder, just so he’d do it again. It’s so good, so fucking good. I’d never felt anything like it.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, “so fucking perfect.”

It was all perfect, every single thing—his legs around me, his hands on my back, his breath on my lips. It made me feel close to him. Like what we were doing wasn’t just about sex—it was about us. I lifted my head up slightly to see his face, and our eyes locked. Fuck. Right then, I understood why he’d come so quickly in the living room when I’d looked up at him. There was something so intimate, so powerful, so blistering hot about eye contact in a moment like that. It was more than contact. It was connection, and it was intense.

My body reacted, moving faster and harder and deeper until I was bucking wildly over him, every brutal thrust punctuated with a sound from the back of my throat and the slap of skin on skin. I grabbed the headboard, almost desperately, as if I needed to hold on. He brought a hand back to his cock and jerked himself as unrestrainedly as I was fucking him, all the muscles in his arm and abs and chest flexing, his legs tightening around me. It’s everything I’d always wanted sex to be—sweaty and hard and rough and animalistic and fuck, fuck, I’m going to come and then it was the sight of him losing control beneath me that finally pushed me over.

But it wasn’t the sight of his muscles or his hand or his cock. I wasn’t even looking at it.

It was his eyes. It was the connection. It was the answer to everything, because it wasn’t only a connection to him—it was a connection to myself, a path to understanding a part of me I’d always found incomprehensible, foreign, ugly.

With Maxim, it made sense. It was as much a part of me as the heart beating in my chest or the blood rushing through my veins. And it was beautiful.

With him, it was beautiful.

I collapsed on his chest, my face buried in his neck. “Oh my God.”

His hands slid up and down my sides. “I think you were lying to me.”

“About what?”

“About never being with a guy before.”

“I wasn’t lying. You’re the first.”

“I’m really happy about that.”

“I am too.” For a moment, I wondered if there would even have been a first without Maxim’s appearance in my life. I couldn’t imagine there was any other guy in the universe who could have driven me to this. It was all him.

“So you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah. I think so.” I took a breath. “But I don’t know where we go from here.”

“Where do you want to go?”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said I could walk away from this.”

“Good.” He kissed my head. “I don’t want to walk away either.”

“But you and me together…” I lifted my chest off him, braced myself with my fists on the mattress. “I have no idea what that looks like. How we go about it. I’m not ready to go public.”

“I get it. And I’m not really a public person in that respect, anyway.”

“So we just…what? Hang out here together?”

“Sure.”

“Does that mean you’re not leaving tomorrow?”

He smiled. “Yeah. That’s what it means.”

“Good.”

“But I am leaving in two weeks. You’ll be tired of me by then, anyway.”

Tags: Melanie Harlow M-M Romance
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