He left me there to retrieve the lube from the bed, back before my skin chilled, kissing down my spine, the delicious rimming starting all over again. When he replaced his hot tongue with two lube-covered fingers, pushing in deep, I moaned his name.
“If this isn’t all right, you tell me,” he said, and I could hear the seduction as well as the sincerity there as he took hold of my hip with one hand and positioned the head of his cock to my entrance with the other.
In answer, I pushed back, craving the feeling of fullness, but more than that, the connection with him. He was gentle, and I felt my body stretch around him, open, take him in as he groaned, husky and low, pressing inside me.
“When you want this from me, Brann, when you want to be inside me, put me down on the bed and I’m yours, you understand? I want this too.”
“But not as much as you want to be inside me,” I said, shivering as I rode the line between pleasure and pain, the pinpricks of sharp, overly-sensitized flesh contrasting with the desire to have him fuck me into the floor.
“I love having you under me,” he growled, pushing, filling me, inch by inch, his movement a slow, steady glide until he was fully seated and I was impaled on his hard length. “And the idea that such a strong, sexy man has my cock buried in his ass is making me stupid.”
I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. “I could ride you.”
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, reaching out to clench his fingers in my hair, tilting my head, bowing my back, sliding in and out, hard and fast, the sound of slapping flesh a steady tempo until he faltered as the primal urge to rut took over. “Grab your cock, because just imagining you bottoming from the top is going to make me come.”
“Is it better than this? Now?” I teased him with my last cognizant thought before there was only the deep stroking to my core.
“Nothing is better than you right now, at this moment,” he said, panting, lost to his own body thrusting, pumping, and above all else, staking his claim. Again.
I’d never been wanted, needed, as I was by Emery Dodd, and as my muscles clamped down along his length like a fist, I came spurting on the floor beneath me, amazed that there was anything left after the first time.
He was seconds behind me, falling across my back, replete as his orgasm washed over him, shuddering with the aftershocks.
“I feel good, huh?” I rumbled, loving his hands sliding all over me before his arms wrapped around my chest, and he clunked his head down between my shoulder blades.
“You feel so much better than good, and I find myself compelled to put marks on every square inch of your beautiful skin.”
“Compelled, huh?” I snickered, loving how ridiculous he sounded.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“Absolutely not.” I couldn’t help teasing.
“Just… I want you to stay here and belong to me,” he murmured. “You need to be mine for the rest of my life.”
He was postorgasm, so not all of what he was saying could be counted on to come from his heart. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, voice low, throaty and almost somber. “I mean, I know I just had really great sex, so you might infer that I’m not terribly credible, but I assure you that I am. Don’t leave me; I won’t survive.”
The chances weren’t much better for me, and as I exhaled the last shred of uncertainty in me, I realized he was it, the only man who would ever do.
“I’m heavy,” he yawned. “I’m sorry.”
But he didn’t move, and when I chuckled, I felt him smile against my back. “You’re not sorry one bit.”
“No,” he agreed, lifting up but not pulling out, instead reaching for my chin to turn my head so he could kiss me. “Not one bit.”
Fifteen
I drove toward Mal’s, smiling like an idiot because Emery had his hand on my thigh the whole way, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I need to ask you a question,” I began hesitantly, pulling over and parking, but leaving the car running, turning in my seat to face him after I unclipped my seat belt.
“I’m sure you need to ask me a million.” He sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, sliding the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “I’m ready when you are.”
I took a breath. “You touched me all the time.”
“Yes, I did,” he admitted gravely.
“And you’re a high school teacher, so… you should be very aware of boundaries and touching and what that all means.”
“Which, of course, I am.”
“And yet with me…,” I said, letting the words trail off, waiting on him.