Strong Enough

When he was buried deep inside me, he tipped forward, bracing his elbows above my shoulders, forcing my knees closer to my chest. He opened his eyes, and I put my hands at the back of his neck.

For a moment, we were still. Our eyes locked. I couldn’t breathe. He was everywhere inside me—everywhere. My mind, my heart, my body, my soul. I gave everything over to him. I was his, exactly the way I’d wanted to be, and it was perfect.

He put his lips on mine as he began to move, his body undulating over mine in sinuous waves. I loved the solidity of his body, his weight, the press of his chest. I loved the stroke of his cock against that place inside me, the one that made my entire body come alive. I loved the abandonment of everything but him—of right and wrong, of good and evil, of rules and religion.

Nothing mattered but us. No one existed but us. Time itself was irrelevant.

Maxim’s breathing grew labored, and he buried his face in my neck as he drove into me, as if he had to get closer to me any way he could. It felt so good, to be wanted that way, without pretense or inhibition or shame, and I slipped my arms around his back, holding him tight. All I could think was stay with me, stay with me, stay with me.

A moment later he sat up and leaned back on his heels, grabbing my thighs to pull me onto his legs. Fuck yes—the angle was unbelievable, and I felt that intense internal pull almost immediately. With my feet flat on the bed, I lifted my hips, and he slid his hands beneath my ass, grabbed on, and fucked me hard and fast and deep. My dick was thrusting through my own fist before I even realized I’d wrapped my fingers around it. I was so close to orgasm, so close, so close, so close, the pressure inside me building and building, intense heat radiating throughout my entire lower body, my ass my thighs my back my stomach, everything tighter hotter yes more oh my God until I exploded all over my chest and heard Maxim yell fuck! and he was throbbing inside me, my ass clenching hard around his cock in what was the longest, most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced. I couldn’t stop coming. My hair stood on end. My skin was on fire. My body convulsed. If it hadn’t felt so good, I might have thought I was in some sort of physical distress. Cardiac arrest. A stroke. Electrocution.

When I came out of it, I looked up at Maxim in disbelief. He was sweaty and disheveled and so fucking beautiful, it hurt. For one insane second, I was actually afraid I might cry.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Would I ever be okay again? “No.”

Confusion and concern rippled across his face. “No?”

“Is there a hole in the ceiling? Because I think I’ve been struck by lightning.”

He laughed. “I know the feeling.”

“My legs. I can’t feel them.”

“Wait till you try to walk.”

I groaned. “I have to get up?”

“No. Just a minute.” He carefully disengaged his body from mine and went into the bathroom. A moment later he was back with a wet washcloth. I went to take it from him, but he shook his head. “Let me.”

I watched his face as he cleaned up my chest, and the tender look on his face nearly broke me. This. This is what I want. I can’t lose him.

But what could I do? There were no good options, and time was running out. This trip hadn’t done what I was hoping it would—in fact, I wanted him more now than ever before. How was that even possible?

He went back into the bathroom, and I closed my eyes.

Punishment. This is punishment for what you’ve done, and the only thing to do is suffer through it.

Thirty-Two

MAXIM

When I came out of the bathroom, Derek was already asleep, facing away from me on his side. Poor guy. I’d worn him out. He was going to be pretty sore tomorrow. Hopefully, he’d think it was worth it.

I climbed into bed and curled my body around his, slinging an arm around his waist. His skin was warm and smelled so good¸ I put my face at the side of his neck and inhaled deeply. Ocean and sex. Nothing better.

This weekend had been incredible. There wasn’t one moment I’d trade for anything, and there were some—like the way he’d held my hand tonight, the way his voice had trembled when he said he’d wanted to know what it was like to be mine, the way he’d offered himself to me in the most intimate and deeply personal way he could—those moments would stay with me forever. I’d felt so cherished and trusted and close to him.

Was it enough? Was I enough? He still refused to talk about the future. I’d been about to tell him how I felt when he derailed the conversation with sex. I couldn’t resist him when he got like that—hot and demanding—but where did that leave us? The sex was beyond amazing, but I wanted to hear him tell me what we had was worth more than that. That I was worth more than that.

Tonight when I was cleaning him up, I’d seen the look in his eyes. Surprise and gratitude and affection. With my hands on his chest, I’d felt the way his heart was beating. He’d liked being taken care of—it made him happy. He was always the one who rescued and protected and put others first, whether it was family or friends or even the animals he said Ellen was always foisting on him. What a relief it must have been to let himself be cared for that way, especially after what we’d done. I knew he hadn’t taken it lightly, and some part of him probably wondered if I’d look at him the same way I did before. If I’d see him as something less then perfect now that I’d seen him at his most vulnerable, his most honest, stripped down to nothing but his deepest needs.

The realization made me snuggle closer. Underneath his perfect exterior, Derek was human and wanted to be loved for who he was. He wanted to feel worthy of being loved. I wanted to know what it would be like to be yours. To belong to you, he’d said.

Acceptance.

He wanted to be accepted. The trouble was, it wasn’t my acceptance he needed.