Exposed to him, I soak up the look in his eyes, feeling drunk on it. My heart starts to pound with a new kind of anticipation when he begins to unbutton his shirt, and my mouth waters when I see his well-defined torso and abs. He drops the shirt to the floor, and I drop my eyes to his cock, which I can tell is huge even behind the zipper of his slacks. He then looms over me and palms both my breasts, making my breath catch. I writhe under his talented mouth and hands as he sucks and pinches my nipples, never giving me a moment to adjust before he moves and changes his angle, keeping me wanting more, guessing what he will do next.
“Please, I need you inside me.” I hold myself up with one hand and use my other to grab hold of his jaw and his attention. His heated eyes focus on mine before he bends forward, taking my mouth in another fiery kiss before he pulls away. I start to reach for him but stop when he pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, flips it open, and takes out a shiny silver packet, dropping the wallet to the counter. My chest heaves with excitement, and I fumble with his belt and zipper as he tears open the condom wrapper with his teeth.
“Pull me out, baby,” he orders.
I don’t hesitate; I wrap my hand around his cock, noticing that my fingertips don’t even touch as I free him from his boxers. I stroke him once, thinking that even his cock is beautiful, before he moves my hand away to slide on the condom. When he positions himself at my entrance, I hold my breath, then let it out as he begins to slowly fill me.
“You’re so fucking tight—so damn tight. I don’t want to hurt you.” His jaw tightens, and I know he’s trying to be careful, but I don’t want careful. I want him inside me. Now.
“You’re not going to hurt me.” I push up, placing my hands on the counter behind me so we’re almost chest to chest, and then I use my heels to pull him closer.
The sound he makes causes my core to flutter around the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” he hisses.
“Please,” I say, and his eyes meet mine. “I need you.”
His eyes flash, and then he fills me full in one smooth thrust. “You okay?”
“God, yes,” I whisper, and he pulls back his hips and then sinks back in once more. With my hands still behind me, I watch as he takes me, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.
When he slides his hand up my thigh and then uses his thumb to circle my clit, I lose the ability to hold myself up and collapse. I listen to him curse as he brings me closer to orgasm, and I do the only thing I can do. I lift my legs higher, dig my heels in deeper, and hold on to the edge of the counter as he starts to ram into me with hard, brutal thrusts.
My orgasm starts quickly, turning from a pull in my lower belly to my thighs shaking and white splotches dotting my vision. My body bows as I come, and Gaston wraps his hands around the backs of my knees, using them to pull my hips into his over and over.
Still feeling the aftershocks of my orgasm, I listen to him groan and feel his thrusts turn sporadic as he dives over the edge with me. When he plants himself deep inside me, so deep there is no room between us, I raise my legs up higher around his waist to hold on to him. He settles some of his weight against me, covering my body with his, and then he sweetly nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, breathing heavily.
As my breathing starts to even out, my stomach growls loudly in hunger, and I whisper, “Please tell me you brought me breakfast.”
His big body begins to shake with silent laughter, and I feel it everywhere. Between my thighs, where his cock is still buried, against my chest, where his is pressed against mine, and at my neck, where his face is tucked. It’s even better than when he was laughing while holding me. The deep sound of his hilarity slowly escapes his mouth and fills the room, and I close my eyes briefly, thinking I could listen to that sound for the rest of my life.
He touches his lips to my neck, then pulls his face from my throat and shoulder, gazing down at me with a soft expression. “I brought you breakfast.”
I want to joke and ask him if it’s too soon to start designing wedding invitations, but I’m not sure he’d think that’s funny. Plus, I really don’t relish the idea of him running from my condo, shouting about the crazy wedding-talking woman in 1046. “Thank God. I thought I might have to kill you to get whatever is in that bag you brought in.”