Then his jeans, his shorts, his boots, all kicked down his legs and off in one urgent tangle. His thighs, thick with muscle, and, between them—
I gulped and my ass tensed and shifted on the bed, my body reacting on primal instinct: first inching away, a little scared, then lured closer, hypnotized. Big. Not just long but thick, the head silky smooth and the shaft weighty and hard as rock.
He put one knee on the bed, between my ankles. He glanced at my legs and took a breath, but no words came out. He met my eyes and I saw how his eyes were hooded with lust: he was too turned on to speak.
I opened my legs and felt his eyes shoot up my thighs to the soft lips of my pussy. My breath was coming in fevered pants, now, the drumbeat inside me thundering and crashing.
He climbed fully onto the bed and the way it sank under his weight, the way the muscled bulk of him nudged my thighs further apart, made my stomach flip-flop. This is real. We’re really doing this. His hands thumped down either side of my head, trapping me, his arms solid as tree trunks, and the drumbeat inside me became a continuous roar. I grabbed hold of his wrists, running my fingers over their hardness, hanging onto them to ground me as I went spacey and light, my ass making slow circles on the bed in anticipation.
He dipped his head and kissed down my body: between my breasts, over my stomach and all the way to my pussy. Then he moved forward, looked down into my eyes—
God. I felt the silken touch of him against my wet lips. For a second, we stayed there, those cornflower-blue eyes staring right into my soul. Then the arrow-shaped head of him was parting me, opening me...stretching me, my hands climbed his wrists, clinging on—
I rolled my head against the pillow, arching my back as he pushed deep. The heat of him...God, the solid girth of him, plunging into me. Every new millimeter he touched set off new streamers of pink and silver pleasure, making my eyes flutter closed and my lips open wide. He drew back and the pleasure became a needful ache. He thrust deep again and it compressed, glowing hotter and brighter.
His hips sunk between my thighs, opening me wider, and that hard, muscled ass came into play, driving him into me. Three hard thrusts and he was in me to the hilt, my hands clutching at his shoulders and my lips forming his name. Then he lowered himself to his forearms and began to fuck me, the weight of him pinning me to the bed, his pelvis grinding against my clit on each thrust. God, the feel of him, the hard solidness of him after weeks of imagining it. His body was like a drug: the more I ground my softness against him, the more I needed to.
For long minutes, the bed creaked in rhythm, the hard swells of his pecs grazing my nipples and the pleasure flaring hotter and hotter, compressing with each stroke until it was as dense as the core of a star. I felt my mouth moving but I didn’t know what I was saying. At first, he kept his control, coaxing me closer and closer to the edge with a steady pace. But the more I writhed and gasped under him, the more turned on he got and the more his control began to shred, until he was hammering into me full speed, pounding my softness into the bed with his body. My hands clawed at his back, my legs came up and cinched tight around him. The pleasure was filling my whole body, taking me over. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear myself begging for release.
He suddenly stopped, grabbed hold of my waist and twisted, and with a yelp I was rolled over so that I was on top, my knees spread wide to straddle him. He guided my movements for a few strokes, lifting and dropping me, and then as soon as I started to move myself, his hands went to my breasts. Now I knew why he’d wanted me this way. There was something in the way he touched them—delighted, lusty but almost reverent—that told me he’d been dreaming of doing this for weeks. He gloried in them, filling his hands and squeezing, using his thumbs to stroke my nipples to aching peaks, and I’d never felt so proud of my body, so...worshipped.
I could run my hands over him, now, use that hard chest to press against as I rode him. My ass bounced atop his thighs, my back arched and I moaned, moving faster and faster, the pleasure swelling and tightening, urging me on. I could hear the wind howling outside, branches slamming against the walls, but nothing could touch us, in here. We were safe and warm and all that mattered was the perfect, hard slide of him inside me, the trembling streamers of pleasure it threw out, the feel of his fingers as they crushed my breasts just right—