“For you, I’d wait forever.”
His reply makes my pulse thrum and my heart flutter, but I know I can’t afford to get carried away by this. It doesn’t mean anything, I repeat silently as the couch cushions shift and almost unbalance me when I lean forward and bat away his hand.
“Let me . . .” I loop my fingers around his wrist, and he instinctively lifts his hand. His breath hitches, the muscles in his thighs contracting as I explore him. He’s as hard as steel and as soft as satin and he is mine as I wrap my fingers around the wide base.
“Kennedy.” There’s a thickness to my name as I press my lips to his silken head. My answering hum around his fat crown becomes the counterpoint to his hiss as my lips embrace his thick length
“Jesussss.” Tortured tones and balled fists, I work him harder and wetter, loving how he moves my hair to the side so he can watch, as he whispers how beautiful I look, sucking him off. His words are so deliciously wrong, but I want no better compliment. I like it even better when he can no longer form full words, when he throws back his head as though it’s all too much.
His thigh tautens under my hands as he tries to stave off the inevitable. I have never felt such power as he convulses beneath me, his laboured breath a tortured rasp, building to a crescendo. God, how I want him to reach that place. I want to take it from him, to force him to surrender. I want it for me as much as I want it for him.
“Need you.” But then his hand hooks under my arm, pulling me to him, my mouth coming off his length with a wet sounding pop. “Need to come inside you.”
And suddenly, it’s all I can think about. Before. Him. The hotel room. How he loved me. How he made me want him.
His mouth is on mine, and we’re tasting each other, licking the salt from the other’s skin, our kisses desperate and messy as he reaches for the condom. A tiny tear. A breathy hiss at an agonised, oversensitive slide. My insides pulse greedily for him. Before I can climb his body, his big hand curls around my shoulder, and we’re moving in the opposite direction.
“Yes, this.” Because this is what I want, I realise. The solid, masculine weight of him pressing down on me.
“This,” he agrees, staring down at where we’re about to meet.
A flex of his hips as he pushes forward, his soft grunt pressed into the skin of my neck.
“Jesus, Kennedy, you feel so fucking good.” He surges into my body as though he owns it. The stretch is exquisite, the feeling of him inside, everything. “It feels like you were built for me.”
When I don’t answer, when I don’t dare, Roman lifts my hands, pinning them above my head. His exquisite body undulates above me, once, twice, before he begins to seriously move. To seriously fuck me.
“Oh, God.” I wrap my legs around him because the experience is so, so sublime. I want it to never end. Oh, God. Thank you. Just, all the gratitude, I think, rolling my lips together because this is not an appropriate situation for giving praise. I’m not sure He wants to hear this. And I’m pretty sure he would love to hear it and use it against me at some later date.
“Look how we fit.” At his rasping command, I glance down to where we meet, to where he flexes, in then out, drawing my mewl of pleasure and a desperate arching of my hips. “So fucking perfect.” We both watch where the root of his cock glistens wetly. Our fingers still linked, he holds my gaze as he thrusts.
My body jerks. I cry out. But I don’t close my eyes as he draws back and fills me again, and again, the thick, slick slide of him driving me to the brink.
“You,” he says. “Just you.”
The way he watches, the way he moves, each of his strokes making me unspool. As he alters his pace, his arms come around me, bringing our bodies impossibly close. Skins slick to touch, I bury my nose in his neck, breathing him in. But then my reactions are put into reverse as everything begins to draw tight—tight and fierce, the sensations gathering like some elemental storm. My back bows from the cushions, my hands greedy, pulling him to me as he begins to whisper things that don’t make any sense.
I grind against him, riding and whimpering, repeating his name again and again as everything blurs around the edges. Him. The room. All of it. There is only this all-consuming experience and the pleasure vibrating through me.
20
Kennedy
PRESENT
PEOPLE EAT ASS