We gasp, pressing our foreheads together as our bodies break this seal. There is a little bit of a burning stretch as I become accustomed, but it feels right. It feels like my body was molded for this moment, for this man. With my knees on either side of his legs, I rock forward, driving him deeper, and his jaw clenches. His grip on my ass tightens, and he lifts me a little to reach my breast, pulling it into the cavern of his mouth. He reaches between us to the nexus of our bodies, and his finger slips over my clit, the rough pad caressing it with each roll of my hips. I’ve come once, but with his tongue and teeth at my nipple, his finger on my clit, and his hard dick filling me up, the orgasm builds again. He flips our positions, pressing me into the bed and pushing back inside before I can catch my breath.
“Canon,” I pant into the sweat-slick crook of his neck, sliding my hands down his back to clutch his ass. “Fuck me.”
He chokes out a laugh. “I am. Shit, Neevah.”
He thrusts so deep, I stop breathing for a second and relish the shock of it. I wrap my arms around his neck and link my ankles behind his back as the pace of our lovemaking changes, shifting from long, deep, smooth strokes to a desperate cadence too frantic for me to control. Trying to is like riding the wind, like swimming in a tsunami. I’m tossed high and hard, helpless, weightless. When he comes with a deep growl, one hand clawed in my hair, the other gripping my thigh, I follow with a sob and a possessive kiss that marks him as mine as surely as I’m branded his however he wants me.
39
Canon
“We should leave the house today.” I say this while we float naked in the swimming pool.
“Why?” Neevah asks, and with her breasts bobbing at the water’s surface, her taut stomach and bare pussy visible in the water as she stands before me, I have to ask the same question.
“It’s Santa Barbara,” I say, only half-heartedly. “One of the most beautiful cities in the country. You should see something other than this place. And it’s not LA. Less exposure, not that I have paparazzi trailing me or anything.”
She swims the few feet over, her long, naked limbs slicing through the water. When she stands in front of me, her head only reaches my chin, and she tilts up, holds my gaze.
“But there’s so much to do right here,” she teases, her eyes growing sultry. Her hand moves between us and she takes my cock, pulling slowly, firmly.
“You’re insatiable.” I lift her so she can wrap her legs around me, and even though I don’t enter, she rubs against me, the friction sweet and hot and glorious.
“You love that about me,” she whispers into a kiss, her water-slick hands gripping my shoulders. “Fuck me again, Canon.”
“We don’t have a condom.”
“Then at least make me come.” She nips at my ear, running her palm over my nipple.
I slip my hand between our bodies, inching two fingers inside her.
“Oh my God.” She rocks into the thrust of my fingers, tipping her head back until the sun glazes her face and neck, highlighting her clear skin, completely free of makeup.
I finger her and stroke her clit, suck on her nipples, until she shudders in my arms, rippling like the water around us.
Laughing at my neck, she pulls back to smile into my eyes. I return the smile and kiss her lightly on the lips. I can’t remember a time in my life where I felt like this. This happy. This satisfied. This starved. This possessive. Every emotion seems to be exaggerated with Neevah.
I’ve always been obsessive about my work, about my art. For the first time, I think I’ve found something else, someone else, to inspire that kind of intensity. She’s ruining me and I have no idea how to stop it. I’m not sure I want to.
It’s scary as hell.
Because that gives her so much power, probably power she doesn’t even realize she has. And I know she feels the same. I didn’t lie when I said I could read her easily. She doesn’t hide the emotion in her eyes when she comes. Doesn’t pretend it’s just fucking, or treat it lightly. I don’t think she knows how to do that—to hold herself back. She is as generous in bed as she is on the stage or on camera. She scatters kisses over my face while the sweetest, dirtiest things spill from her lips into my ears. At the same time there’s a fearlessness about her, the same quality that makes her think it will all work out when people discover us. I hope she’s right.