The groan that tore out of him was erotic—fierce. There was nothing else. No absence. No past. No future. Only the slick sound of their flesh slapping, their breaths tearing out of their chests as he began a frantic rhythm.
The ring slid inside her walls, up and down, as he pumped her, and her spine arched, her eyes wild as she gripped him. He scraped powerfully inside her, introducing her to a pleasure she had never, ever, imagined before. She screamed and convulsed in orgasm, crying out his name, her nails biting into his straining shoulders.
He didn’t stop when her tremors subsided. He continued plowing into her, slower, but deeper, reminding her of all those nights she had been in his arms, living and dying in the same second.
“Andy,” she gasped, frightened at the intensity, hanging onto him as her hips wildly swiveled up to his.
“Say you’re mine,” he demanded, his breath ragged and harsh, his face contorted in ecstasy as his fingers dug into her pelvis.
His scent, hot and musky, roiled around her as he pulled her arms high above her head and pinioned her there for his thrusts, his eyes so fierce with love she felt drowned in it, in him, in the ecstasy of his every hard thrust. “Say it, Whitney. Say that every inch of you burns for me. Screams for me. Say that your body is my home. Welcome me the fuck home.”
His words electrified her. As she climbed higher and higher to the peak, she strained up to latch onto his lips, fiercely answering his demands with her lips, her tongue.
His shoulders were her only anchor, his hands gripping and holding her, telling her wordlessly to let go . . . and he would catch her. He would hold her. He would complete her again for the first time in three . . . awful . . . lonely . . . years . . .
Her climax sloshed over her in a wave of heat, and she shattered into a million glowing pieces, his name tearing off her lips the instant she heard him growl out, “Whitney”—and that single word, in his voice, from his lips, poured through her like a salve until her tremors finished.
*****
Whitney lay there, her eyelids heavy, her red hair a fan behind her, and Andrew was still bursting full with everything he needed to give her. Everything he hadn’t been able to give her.
He slid between her parted thighs, not caring that his semen was all over her, too thirsty for her taste not to lower his head and lick her.
Her pussy creamed even more, and as soon as he prodded her entry with his tongue, her juice sluiced down his throat in a buffet for all his senses. He was drowning in her. Her feminine scent, her heat, the shallow little sounds of her rapid breaths. A growl rumbled up his throat as his thirsty lips moved on her clit, lightly at first, then with more force as he could feel the pleasure building inside her again until she whimpered.
Her pelvis pumped up to his mouth, her hands cradling the back of his head almost lovingly as he brought both his hands to stroke her inner thighs, and then used them both to part her labia wider and push his tongue even deeper into her until another orgasm crashed through her.
His ears roared from the force of his desire, listening to her gasp and moan in her climax. He needed her again, was starved for her, wanted to be one with her.
As soon as her shudders subsided, he splayed her open beneath him and sprawled his body above hers, pinning her down with his weight, and she wrapped her limbs around him, supple and warm. “Please.”
His heartbeat roared in his ears as he found her center and rubbed the length of his erection along her slit. Soaked wet with her orgasm, it beckoned him. Inch by pulsing inch, he impaled himself in her, his mind whirling to absorb every inch of the way she looked beneath him, a part of him afraid he was dreaming her. Fantasizing her. A part of him afraid that he’d wake up in the morning to a cold bed, hard and small beneath him, and no Whitney.
But she was too real, the heat of her body burning him, heating up his bedroom. She was all creamy skin and rosy cheeks, coated with perspiration, scented of sex and vanilla and him . . .
He growled and thrust into her. She gasped and angled her pelvis to draw him in deeper, and he barked out in pleasure. “Yes,” he gritted, and scraped his lips up the curve of her tender neck. “I’m home.”
Tight as a fist, she rippled wet and hot around his pulsing length, her nails digging into his ass as she urged him closer. She was teeth-grindingly snug—and he gloried in the way she embraced his body, embraced his cock.
“Work your legs higher, show me you want me here,” he rasped, and she locked her ankles at the small of his back so that when he thrust once more, she screamed and he yelled in unison. This union between them—it had been kept from him for three years. Three. Fucking. Years. It tore through his insides like a firestorm, ripping his emotions open. His muscles spasmed as he rammed her with more force, burying himself up to his balls. “You feel so fucking good . . .”
“Andy.” Feverish, she pushed her breasts up to his diaphragm in a sinuous arch of her spine as she clawed at his body with her fingertips, and when he pinioned her arms above her and laced his fingers between hers, their tattoos came skin to skin, and he started fucking her for real.
She went crazy. Crying out in delirium, she writhed beneath him and sank her teeth into the curve between his neck and shoulder, pulling his flesh almost painfully hard.
The pace he set mounted into a frenzy of slapping flesh, gasps and moans, and slick sounds of their mouths melding. Bubbling little sounds tore from her lips, turning into moans that caressed him down to his scrotum. He felt completed. His orgasm there, poised at the brink, held back only as he waited for her.
His breath tore out of him. Every ounce of desire he’d felt for her,
of longing, of fear for her, had been worth it if only to come back here and bury himself inside his woman’s wet heat. “Shatter for me,” he commanded, and she broke apart at the words.
She just broke apart.
The second she did, he came undone. He felt the milking contractions of her sex as the never-ending orgasm coursed through her, until his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and a heart-stopping climax whipped him into a maelstrom of sensation.
Pleasure barreled through him, tearing her name from his lips as he bucked over her, filling her with his liquid heat and his desire for her.
Minutes later, he settled down and held her small, sweat-slickened body against his side, his chest overflowing as he gazed down at her flushed cheeks, her closed eyelids, with a soft smile on her lips. It felt like the world had finally been set to rights with Whitney beside him.