Never Say Forever

“I need you.” He pulls me back, my mouth coming off his length with a wet pop. Grabbing the abandoned condom, he rises above me, tearing it open with his teeth before sheathing himself and pressing me back against the mattress. “Take me inside,” he demands, swiping his crown through my wetness. “Take me inside your body.”

My body offers him no resistance as he drives forward, sliding himself to the hilt.

“Stop.” My response is more breath than word, but he can’t mistake my intentions as I slide my legs around him. Don’t move. Don’t go. Just let me feel you.

“Are you okay?” His forearms at either side of my head, his expression is fierce, though the way he smooths the unruly mess of my hair is the opposite.

“I-I told you it’s been a while.” It’s the truth and also a lie. I don’t need him to stop. I just want this moment to never end. His wide shoulders block out the light and shadow the scruff on his cheek. I want to catalogue every sigh and every held breath while savouring the feel of him seated so deeply inside me.

“I can take it slow.” He presses his lips to my forehead, and I realise I’m a little disappointed that he didn’t ask me exactly how long. “You just feel so fucking good.”

I arch into him, his body responding in turn, undulating above me like a wave.

“I forgot what it felt like.” I find myself whispering my admission.

“Good, right?” His words sound pained, the muscle in his bicep trembling next to my head.

So good. So right.

“You feel like heaven. So wet and so tight. You feel like you were built for me. Tell me you feel the same way.”

I don’t dare open my mouth. I can’t trust what it might say, what it might reveal as utterly owned as I feel. Then my butt is in his hands as his lifts me in a change of depth and pace. Our carnal cries hit the air simultaneously.

“Tell me,” he demands, surging into my body like it’s something he owns. “Let me in.”

“It feels like I belong.” Sheets twisted in my fists, I’m like a cat stretching in the sunshine as I push back into him, my pelvic bones bruising as I grind against him harder still. I grate out his name, yes, yes, yes! “I-it feels like I’m yours.”

“Mine!” My insides ignite, quicken at this one guttural word. At his ownership.

His hoarse groan vibrates against my neck, and I begin to thrash as he pushes deeper. It seems impossible he could have any more to give—that I could take any more of him. Though I will. I’ll take it all, and I’ll welcome it.

“If I was built for you, then you were built for me.”

He ploughs into me with a curse, my pleasure so deep, I cry out a helpless, hungered sound. A sound that he swallows as we kiss and hold, press and grind almost as though we’re one being.

“This is why I haven’t since—this is why. I was waiting for you. Only you.”

“Fuck!” His arms shake as he delivers long urgent strokes, reaching for my hands. Our fingers linked, he pins them to the mattress next to my head as he says my name over and over again.

Fiadh.

A half breath, a gasp, the wave of pleasure too strong to resist. My orgasm goes from smouldering to a white-hot burning flame. I’m coming hard, so hard, exploding in a burst of blinding heat and ecstasy, the whole world falling away as I come utterly undone.

Above me, Carson’s arms shake, his body surging with one last thrust. “You are mine, Fiadh. This body and your wild heart. You were made for me.” His face contorts in ecstasy as he finally comes.

21

Carson

“You have the most perfect mouth,” I whisper, tracing the contours of her beautiful face with the pad of my thumb.

These aren’t words I’d ever thought I’d hear myself say at an Ardeo night. They’re more truthful and honest, and certainly a different kind of spontaneous to your mouth looks so good around my cock. Because while that might be true, it’s not enough to describe how I feel about the woman lying next to me, her body curling towards mine like a flower following the sun. Hands curled under her chin, she reflects back my happiness, though her smile is almost serene.

I expect I look a little fuck drunk myself. Drunk on her. Drunk on love?

I push the thoughts away. Baby steps, I tell myself as I consider the only thing missing at this moment is that I lack the soul of a poet because Fee is the kind of woman who deserves to have sonnets written about her. Not the kind of shit that compares her to a summer’s day, despite her summery hair. Maybe these sonnets could compare her to the stars.