Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

“Please God don’t stop,” I croaked out, desperate not to be left on this edge of almost-explosion.

My mind couldn’t focus.

Joshua dipped his head down and restarted the rhythm with his tongue that had got me wrung out and writhing on the bed. The stirrings of an orgasm pressed at the base of my spine and I gasped. I wasn’t going to be able to be graceful when I came. His insistent fingers and tongue, his hot breath, all pressed into me like fists pounding on a table, demanding my orgasm.

Release shot through my body like lightning. It was as if someone had pushed me off the edge of a cliff and I could do nothing but enjoy the view on the way down.

And it was glorious.

Sex hadn’t ever been so all-consuming. So clamorous that there was no room to think. All I could do was feel.

Exhilarated

Enraptured.

Adored.

As my body sank back into the mattress, I was vaguely aware of Joshua’s hands sweeping up my body and then his lips on mine. It was as if he kissed me back to consciousness.

He kneeled and rolled on a condom. His dick was upright against his stomach, thick and veined and straining like a dog on a lead. Joshua’s tongue was impressive. But his penis? Perfection.

He leaned over me and I hooked my heels over his thighs, pulling him closer. And just like before in the park, he leaned his forehead against mine. For a moment there was no sound but the blood pounding in my ears, no movement apart from the rise and fall of our chests. It was as if we were bracing ourselves, knowing that what happened next would be momentous.

The preamble passed and Joshua pushed into me, achingly slowly, eking out all my desperation and pleasure.

My fingernails bit into his shoulders and I opened my legs wider, trying to let him deeper, closer. His muscles under my hands shifted. I wasn’t sure if I would breathe again.

“Hartford,” he choked out, giving voice to the shock I felt at how well we fit together.

He moved out of me slowly, like I was made of glass, then pushed in again. This time his eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed as if he were channeling all his energy into one movement. Like he was giving me everything he had.

He gasped as he reached the end of me and his eyes snapped open. “I . . . I.” It was almost panic I saw in his eyes. “You feel so good, and I want to take you so hard and fast you won’t be able to move for a week.”

I reached and cupped his face before he slumped over me. The hulking, fit guy I’d adored as a teenager, who had grown into an even more hulking, muscled specimen of a man, was breathing like he’d just run a marathon—all because of the effort it took not to nail me to the mattress. I nudged him so he turned over and I was astride him.

“Really?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I clearly have more self-control.”

Those wickedly naughty eyebrows of his suggested getting me on top had all been part of his plan.

I tucked my hips underneath me, settling on his thick cock as deep as I could. I tipped my head back, relishing that fullness, that feeling that every single one of my senses was turned up to maximum.

I pressed my palms to his chest and began to move, rocking back and forth on his cock in small, intense movements that kept him deep and ensured that this moment right here would last for as long as possible. I didn’t want this to be over soon for any reason. I didn’t want to break the spell of whatever had happened to get us to this moment.

This was my not-so-fake date.

This was an old, never-forgotten crush.

This was my best friend.

Any moment in the future presented obstacles whichever way we moved, so I wanted to stay here, now, for the rest of time.

He reached around and grabbed my arse and started to move me in the very precise way and exact speed that he wanted. It might have looked like I was on top, but a man like Joshua was always in charge.

“You’re going to make me come from that angle,” he said.

I slowed to a stop and he pushed himself up so he was sitting, wrapping his arms around me. “No, I mean, I can’t watch your breasts move like that. It’s like witchcraft. They’re fucking perfect.”

I was used to Joshua being smooth, but the sheen on his forehead and the slight pant to his voice told me it wasn’t just something he was saying to make himself look good or me feel good. Before I had a chance to respond, he’d escaped from under me and pushed me to my back.