My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

“Come for me,” I demand, thrusting my three fingers deep as my thumb finds her clit. She explodes, clenching around my fingers and crying out softly. Her body’s as tense as a drawn bow, the wave pulling her tighter and tighter until she totally releases, her body sagging to the table in a boneless heap as she pants jaggedly.

Even as her legs and arms relax, I can feel her pussy squeezing my fingers and hear the whimper in her voice when I pull out. “Lorenzo.”

“Me too,” I promise her, giving myself a firm squeeze to stave off my pending orgasm as I climb up on the table on top of her. Her ass is oily and slick, nestling my cock and slipping around it to wrap it in her soft warmth.

I know what she said, but I can feel not only her breath catch but the tension in her shoulders when the head of my now oily cock rubs over her ass, and she isn’t ready for that. Instead, I slide back and forth, feeling my balls brush against her pussy.

“Tell me what you want?” I whisper in her ear. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I . . .” Abigail says, swallowing as she takes a moment to look over her shoulder. “I want to feel you fill me. I want you to come inside me. I want to remember this forever.”

This woman . . .

I nearly come right here at her words, but then my breath is stolen from my lungs with her brutal honesty. Maybe that’s what we both need—something to remember.

So I worship her, leaning in to sample her mouth as I move my cock down and then up and into her warm wetness. Both of us moan into the other’s mouth as her body gives way to my invasion.

I give her everything, gripping the table with my toes and hands so I can fuck her, not just with my hard cock but with my whole body as I rub and slide over hers.

We move together until she pushes back, and I understand, getting to my knees as I pull her up by her waist, staying buried balls deep inside her. She wants it hard and fast, and within seconds, my hips are slapping against her in wet, oily smacks that fuel our passion.

When Abigail throws her head back, I wrap my fingers into her hair, pulling her tight and pounding her mercilessly as she’s reduced to being totally in my control. The table shakes, both of us making the wooden struts creak as we drive ourselves to the limit. We’re desperate, or at least I am, fucking myself into her body, her mind, her memory. If that’s what I’m going to be reduced to, I’m going to make it count. I want this to be the moment she compares all others to. I want to be the man she compares everyone else to.

I growl because . . . fuck that. There aren’t going to be any other men, any other lovers, any other orgasms. Not for mia rosa.

“You’re mine,” I growl, tugging on her hair to emphasize my point. “Say it!”

“Yours,” Abigail cries, and I slam home as hard as I can one last time, exploding deep inside her. It’s the most intense orgasm of my life, and Abigail’s body spasms around my erupting cock as I give her what she wants.

As we give each other what we need for as long as we have left.

She sags completely, collapsing into my arms even as I stay nestled inside her. I lower her back to the table, and I soften and slip out.

It’s too soon. It feels final and I want more.

She flips over, ungraceful as she scoots her ass to the side of the table and throws a leg over my head, nearly knocking me out. The only way I avoid a potential concussion is because of my timely duck.

But Abigail’s smile isn’t one that acknowledges the silly awkwardness of the move. No, it’s her fake one, forced to her lips but not reaching her eyes.

Our eyes search each other’s, looking for . . . something. A clue that I’m wrong? A sign that maybe this could be more?

But I see only sadness. I can feel that it’s not only the hour in this room, or the amazing sex, that’s done. There’s a lot that’s over with today. Like us, like this fake honeymoon that became something else to me.

She was making love with me so desperately to tell me goodbye. It’s in her eyes, and I can feel her walls going back up.

I’ve never been the one left behind. I’m usually the one who leaves, so I never realized how much it sucks to know that someone’s walking away from you. Oh, our planes might be going back to the same town, but we’re going back to something very different.