Breaking Him (Love is War 1)

We couldn’t be near each other these days without him fixating on me.  And if I showed a bit of skin, well, that was even more gratifying.

I absolutely ate it up.  I couldn’t get enough of his attention.

“We doing this?” he asked me with a smile.

In answer, I unsnapped my bra through my shirt, wiggled out of it, then shimmied my shorts off.  Wearing nothing but a thin white, almost half shirt and lavender panties, I made a dash for the water, leaving Dante behind.

I didn’t look back at him until I was fully submerged to find him still staring at me.

I smiled.  He was slack-jawed and hadn’t so much as shrugged off his shirt.  “You coming in or what, slow-poke?”

That seemed to shake him out of it, and I had my own moment of slack-jawed staring to do as he peeled off his shirt and then took off his jeans.

He joined me in nothing but his boxers.  He was about three steps into the water when I rose out of it, watching his eyes on my body, the way he swallowed, how his breathing changed to ragged.

And my eyes moved down his body to stare in fascination at what his boxers couldn’t hide.

What I saw made me realize two things at once—how badly he wanted me, and how quickly this was going to get out of hand, both of which galvanized me into action.

With a cocky grin, I strode by him to the shore, past it to the wall of rock and started climbing.  It was a short climb and easier than it looked.  The wall of rock was dotted with almost perfectly placed handholds and inside each one a nice thick patch of spongy moss had grown big and strong enough to grab and hold.  I scaled the wall and made it up onto the rock in less than a minute, just like old times, as though it hadn’t been years since we’d done this.

I waved to him from above.  He hadn’t moved, and I’d caught him again very obviously staring at me.

I glanced down at myself.  With my thin, white shirt wet, I may as well have been topless.  Actually, somehow it felt even more indecent than that.  Almost without thinking, I tried to cover myself with both hands but as I did, I realized that grabbing handfuls of myself was even worse.

I looked at him again.  He was still frozen in place, staring intently.  He looked like he wanted to devour me whole.

With a trembling breath, I let go of my breasts, letting them bounce free, straining against the thin, wet material of my shirt.  With a smile I took a running jump off the rock.

He was on me the second I surfaced, hands on my hips.  He yanked me to him and started kissing me, his hands slipping around to my ass, pushing my sex flush to his.

I clung to him, kissing him back.  I felt drugged, past all good judgement, in a state, and the look in his eyes had put me there.

He dragged me to the shore, out of the water, and onto the ground.  He got on top of me, shoving his hips between my thighs.

He was a wild man, shoving my shirt up, grabbing handfuls of me, rough noises escaping from his throat.

My hand went for him, delving into his boxers to cup him.

One of his hands snaked down and started dragging off my panties.

We knew each other’s bodies well by now, but it never seemed to be enough.

He wrenched his mouth away from me and moved down my body.  When he came back up, I was naked from my shoulders down and his boxers were gone.

“Let me put it in inside you,” he groaned into my mouth when he was on top of me again.  “Just for a second.  I won’t come.  I just want to feel you.”

I couldn’t say no.  In spite of my better sense, if I even had such a thing, I couldn’t say no to the desperate plea in his voice.

“Okay,” I said tremulously.

“Are you sure?  You can say no.  You should say no if you’re not ready.”

“Just for a second, right?”

“Yes.  I don’t . . . have condoms or anything.  I won’t come inside you, I swear.”

I nodded, craning my neck to look down and watch what he was doing.

He used his hand to guide himself to my entrance, angling his tip to snag in just right.

I was wet, and he’d already taken care of my hymen, but it was still uncomfortable.  He was too big and I was too tight.

It took him a long time to stuff his thick length in.  If it was uncomfortable for me, it seemed to be excruciating for him going by the noises he was making.

He shoved in until his hips were flush against me, buried to the root.  He held still there for a time, panting on top of me.

My body started to adjust.  It was still uncomfortable, but that discomfort was starting to be overshadowed by the ache inside of me.  The ache was growing fiercely, and my body had come to expect relief from it.  I started shifting under him, getting a feel for the overwhelming fullness of it, trying to find the angles that made my stubborn tightness loosen enough to bring me pleasure.

As soon as I moved, he lost his mind.

He cursed, jerked out halfway, shoved all the way back in hard enough to jar a cry out of me, pulled back, pumped in again, once, twice, before he yanked completely free.

He was apologizing over and over as he rolled off me and onto his back.

I followed him, hand going to his hard, twitching length, stroking him, rubbing out every last drop of his release.

We’d had a lot of practice by now.  This had pretty much become the thing that consumed all of our free time in the last few months, and I knew just how to touch him, just what he liked.

He pulled my hand away slowly, eyes closed, still panting, but within thirty seconds he had me on my back, his hand between my thighs.