Losing It

“Breathe, angel.” He rubs my shoulder with one hand. Slides his other arm around my waist.

My body melts into his.

His lips find my neck.

He winds me up with those soft scrapes of his teeth. Just enough to hurt. Just enough I feel it everywhere.

He works his way to my shoulder, then he moves to the other side and does it again.

Every brush of his mouth winds me tighter.

I’m so fucking close.

So fucking empty.

I’ve never been so acutely aware of how much I need to be full.

How much I need him inside me.

His fingers trail up my thigh.

Closer.

Closer.

There.

His hand brushes my sex.

Softly.

Then harder.

He teases me with one finger.

Then two.

Fuck, I need that.

“Please,” I breathe.

He doesn’t ask what I mean.

He knows exactly what I mean.

He toys with my neck as he slides a finger inside me.

The pressure is intense.

Almost too much.

It hurts.

In a good way.

But it really fucking hurts.

Breathe.

Slow inhale.

Slow exhale.

“You okay, angel?” His breath warms my ear.

I nod. I am. I really am.

He holds me close with one arm.

Then he drives his finger deeper.

Deeper.

Fuck.

My eyelids flutter closed.

My senses tune to Wes.

The pressure of his finger.

His hand against my hip.

His teeth against my neck.

He pulls his finger back.

Adds a second.

Slowly, he drives inside me.

It’s not him, but it’s close.

It makes me fuller.

And emptier.

I need this.

But I need him more.

“Please,” I breath, though I’m not sure exactly what it is I’m demanding. “Fuck me.”

“Soon.” He pulls his fingers back then drives them into me a little harder.

I reach for something to steady myself. Find his jeans.

My fingers curl into the denim.

My back melts into his chest.

He drives his fingers into me again.

Again.

Again.

His rhythm steadies.

I can feel him stretching me.

It doesn’t hurt exactly.

It’s more a pressure.

A hell of a lot of pressure.

He pulls back. “You okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Too much.”

“No.”

“You’re wincing.” He nods to the mirror in front of us.

Oh. My cheeks flush. I’m still shy about watching. About him watching.

“Look at your reflection, angel.”

My gaze stays on my shoes.

“Quinn, look.”

“I can’t.”

“See how fucking gorgeous you are.” He releases his grip of my waist. Brings his hands to my chin.

Slowly, he tilts my chin.

My gaze travels up my calves.

My thighs.

Fuck, that’s his hand between my legs.

It’s so fucking sexy.

Desire spreads through my chest, torso, limbs. All the way to my fingers and toes.

Every molecule of my body needs him.

How is it possible to need someone this much?

To need anything this much?

“Please.” I make eye contact through the mirror. “I need you inside me.”

His pupils dilate.

“Please, Wes.” I rock my hips to drive his fingers deeper. “Please fuck me.”

“Sit on the bed.” He pulls his hand back.

My body wines from the loss of pressure. Then proximity.

But I still follow his orders.

I like his dirty demands.

I really fucking like them.

I take a seat on the bed.

Spread my legs.

Stare up into his eyes.

“Back against the headboard,” he says.

I scoot up the bed.

He gives me a long, slow once-over.

Then he strips.

He takes his sweet, sweet time doing away with his shoes, socks, t-shirt, jeans, boxers.

It’s just us now.

Just our bodies.

No bullshit, no pretenses, no promises.

Just a perfect, pure connection.

Wes climbs into the bed.

He places himself between my legs.

“Angel, you should know something.” His lips brush my lips. Chin. Neck.

“Yeah?”

“You’re coming on my face first.”

My sex clenches.

He’s not asking a question.

I nod anyway.

Slowly, Wes kisses a trail down my torso.

His lips brush my pelvis.

My inner thigh.

There.

He licks me up and down with long, slow strokes.

Then short, fast ones.

His sucks on my lips.

Then it’s that same soft scrape of his teeth.

Fuck.

I reach for him.

Get his hair.

Hold him in place as he works me.

He winds me so fucking tight. Until the tension is too much to take.

Then he brings his tongue to my clit. And he licks me exactly how I need him.

I come quickly.

In spasms.

My sex pulses.

My heart races.

My limbs go slack.

I groan his name as I come.

It bounces around the room.

Echoes off the walls and into my ears.

Wes, Wes, Wes.

The perfect fucking soundtrack.

“Fuck me.” I drop the politeness. “Now.”

He climbs up the bed. Plants his hands outside my shoulders. Wraps his arm around me.

His eyes meet mine. “Deep breath, angel.”

I suck an inhale through my nose.

“Exhale.”

I sigh through my lips.

“If it’s too much—”

“I know.”

“Just breathe and feel, okay?”

Again, I nod.

“Legs around me.”

I lift my legs. Wrap them around his waist. He’s too far off the bed. I can’t quite make it.

He lowers his body onto mine.

Mmm. There’s something about the weight of him.

The hardness.

The pressure.

How is it possible to feel full and empty at the same time?

I do.

I really fucking do.

Wes’s eyes meet mine. “Try again.”

This time, I manage to hook my legs around his waist.

“You good?”

I nod.

His eyes fill with affection, concern, tenderness.

It’s almost too much to take.

But, somehow, I manage to hold his gaze.

He cups my cheek with his palm. Rubs my temple with his thumb. “Take a deep breath.”

I do.