A low growl rumbled in his throat. He swung his hips, his pelvis smacking against her ass. She bit off a scream. He ground his balls against her ass, his cock throbbing deep inside her.
“I’m not going to last,” he bit out. “You feel like you’ve got a fever, you’re so hot.”
“I don’t want it to end.”
“Neither do I, honey. Neither do I.”
He began to fuck her slow and deep. Her face pulled tight at the pressure and friction. The moment felt electrical, full . . . intensely erotic. His pelvis began to smack rhythmically against her buttocks. She felt him much more acutely in her ass. Despite the fact that she’d said she didn’t want it to end, her body strained for release. She urged him with her hand on his ass. He gave a guttural growl and grabbed her other leg. He held both her ankles in the air, keeping her hips rolled back, and gave her what she had begged for.
She screamed, the sound of it vacillating as Seth plunged into her and their bodies crashed together. She hadn’t told herself to do it, but her hand was moving feverishly between her thighs.
“I’m going to come,” he told her, sounding wretched at the fact.
But she’d already sensed it, they were so attuned at that moment. She felt his cock swell inside her, and she grimaced, her hand moving faster between her thighs. His body went rigid. His groan sounded pained as he began to come. She hated the sound of it. She loved it. His warmth filled her, and she shuddered in her own release.
Afterward, she stared into the darkness, panting, feeling strangely both utterly sated and bereft at the same time.
This thing with Seth was going to kill her. Her desire for him was so sharp, it hurt. Why did the sweetest things in the world also have to be the most painful?
* * *
The next day, Seth seemed as subdued as she was. What had happened in bed last night seemed to hover around them, their lovemaking a poignant reminder of what was special between them. Seth was very tender with her all day, almost as if he thought she were ill or something.
Or as if he cherished her very much.
The day was gray and blustery, the wind so fierce it blew half of the leaves off the trees, exposing skeletal branches. Seth made a fire and Gia curled up in a chair near it, reading. He silently worked on sketches of her. Every once in a while, her cheek would tickle from his intent gaze on her face. She would look up, and they would share a smile.
These moments with him were so different from their fierce lovemaking. These, too, she wished would never end.
“Are you working on more sketches for the Eleanor makeup?” she asked him once, while she took a break from reading.
He grunted, scrunched his eyelids together and tossed down his pencil. “It’s no use,” he said.
“What’s no use?” she asked, sensing his frustration.
“I can’t get you the way I want you. It’s like . . . part of you always eludes me.”
“I’m one hundred percent right here. I assure you,” she replied softly. He blinked and met her stare, his frustration fading.
“You know what I think?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I think you’re frustrated because you’re hungry.” She stood briskly. “I’ll get us some lunch.”
She made them grilled cheese sandwiches and salads. Afterward, they returned to the fireside, the warmth of the fire and the sound of Seth’s pencil scratching on his sketch pad lulling her. It felt wonderful, to be so relaxed and yet so aware of his attention focused on her, to have her senses so piqued by his nearness. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Gia?”
“Hmmm?” she purred contentedly, turning her face toward him.
“Would you let me draw you nude?”
Her mouth fell open in surprise. “What does me being nude have to do with the Eleanor makeup?”
“Nothing.”
His steadfast reply vibrated in the warm air between them.