Obsessed

He spreads me open using his knees and sinks between my legs. I sigh into the feel of his cock twitching against me there and buck my hips to rub up against him.

“You may not believe that we can make it, but I’ll spend every second of my life showing you we can.”

And then he kisses me, hard. His tongue plunges into my mouth with a kind of urgency I haven’t felt from him before. It’s like he wants to convince me so badly that our love will work, and this is the only way he knows how to do it.

And how can I resist it? How can I question it when I can feel his overwhelming love for me in every touch, every look?

A slow heat rises in my center.

I break from the kiss, breathless, and say, “I believe you, Peter. I want to spend my life loving you, too.”

He rocks his hips down into me, sliding his deliciously hard cock between my already dripping folds. The sensation starts as a tingling in my clit that curls and then snakes its way through my aching core, branching out and taking over my whole body.

It’s like we’re made of pure energy, him and me, and our bodies are on fire.

I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer. I want him so badly I could cry.

“Emily, wait,” Peter says, his breathing comes in ragged pants on my mouth.

But I don’t want to wait. I’ve never needed anyone as much as I need him right now. The tension between my legs is growing more painful with each passing second, and I know that Peter is my answer to its release.

I glide my hands lightly up the length of his body, starting at his tight ass. He shudders under my feather-light touch. I keep going, ghosting all the way up the ripped muscles in his back, over his strong shoulders, until finally I clasp them around his neck. I pull him down so that his lips are just grazing mine.

“I need you, Peter. I want you inside me. All of you.”

And when I take his mouth with mine, he thrusts into me with such force I cry out. The length of him, unsheathed and throbbing inside me, is like no other ecstacy I’ve ever felt. And still, I want more. It’s like we can’t get close enough.

“Yes, oh God, Peter!”

Spurred on by some desperate hunger, he pulls out halfway and plunges into me again. Harder than before. A low growl reverberates through his body as he pushes himself deeper. Lifting my legs higher, I give him more of me and he accepts it passionately. Fills me up.

I’m gasping for breath, my head spinning with the wonderful feel of the man I love, loving me so hard.

He’s working up a steady rhythm, his face buried in my neck, strangled breath hot and wet against my flushed skin.

“Fuck, Emily, you feel so fucking good.”

I clench my muscles, gripping his cock as tight as I can, and the primal moan that breaks from his lips just then is nothing less than euphoria. He’s trembling on top of me, and the idea that I’m the one who evoked this reaction is so fucking hot.

“I love you. God, I love you.” Peter’s words are steamy whispers crawling on the surface of my skin.

They burn through me like white-hot bolts of lightning to pool between my legs and erupt in a mind-blowing quaking that takes over my whole body. I’m ready. I’m so ready to let go and let my entire being unravel. The tell-tale spasms start up in my core. I’m so close! I’m done.

Then Peter puts his mouth to my ear and growls, “Turn around.”

Chapter Fourteen

Peter

If someone came up to me a month ago and told me that a few weeks from then, I’d be watching Emily hang some frames on our living room wall while I read the morning paper on the couch, I would’ve told them they’re crazy. And yet, here we are.

It’s incredible to think about how we got here and what we may be risking. But every morning I get to wake up and see her beautiful face, feel her arms around me, it makes it all worth it. We’ve settled into a comfortable domestic routine that’s so good, I sometimes can’t believe this is my life.

“What do you think, hon?” Emily stands aside so I can get a clear look at her latest attempt with the picture wall.

I lower the newspaper and try to seem interested in the three modern art prints. She picked them up online as a passive aggressive retaliation after I told her we couldn’t go to her favorite gallery’s new exhibition two weeks ago. I’m pretty sure that, along with using my credit card to make the purchase, making me sit through all this is part of my punishment.

The frames look exactly like the previous arrangement and the one before that. But I know better than to say so, of course. Instead, I’ve perfected the art of feigned interest to help me survive it unscathed.