He held my gaze and pushed inside, one slow inch at a time, watching me until his eyes squeezed shut in an expression of purest ecstasy—as if it were so good it hurt. His brows drawn together and teeth clenched to hold back a small groan.
“Oh God,” I gasped, feeling him inside me, more and more, heavier and heavier. I gripped his hips to pull him in deeper. Our mouths clashed in a kiss of moans as he moved inside me completely, my body taking all of him. He held still a moment, breathing heavily against my neck.
“Jesus, Willow,” he said. I felt his broad chest expand and shrink against mine in a giant breath. He lifted his head to look at me. “You all right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Don’t stop.”
He kissed me as his hips pulled from mine. I gasped at the sensation of him sliding out a little, then pushing back in. Again and again, our bodies heated and wet with sweat and moving against one another so readily. Perfect. Heavy. Full.
Mine.
He kept a hand on my hip, pushing and pulling me into his thrusts, then his palm slipped under me, to the small of my back. Tilting me up to go deeper, building a sweet pressure inside me. I cried out as he brushed that place inside me where the ache of pleasure began over and over. My legs wrapped around him, pinning him to that one spot. Holding him there.
“Feels so good,” I whispered, clutching him to me, my hands in the dampness of his hair at the base of his neck. “God, I never knew…”
“Neither did I.”
“Does it feel good?”
“Perfect, baby. You’re perfect and so goddamn beautiful.”
He moved faster now, our bodies sliding and colliding, his thrusts driving into me. I took every one, took every s
ound he made. Every gasp, every groan and grunt and curse that slipped between his teeth, along with my name, I took them all.
“Yes,” I said. Over and over, “Yes.” Body and mind delirious with “Yes.”
“So good,” Isaac growled. “You feel so fucking good…”
“Yes,” I breathed.
This is how it’s supposed to be…
I could’ve let my eyes fall shut. I wasn’t afraid of the dark. Or of Isaac’s crushing weight on top of me. Or his mouth that kissed mine with equal parts lust and reverence. As I reveled in the feel of him over me and against me and inside me, I kept my eyes open. Not wanting to miss a moment of his face. Needing to emblazon every second on my heart and body. Inking him into my skin. Imprinting this moment on my soul, so I’d never forget how it felt to be this cherished, desired and loved.
His hips moved faster against mine. The exquisite push and pull driving me to another crescendo, even higher than where he’d taken me with his mouth. I tried to hold onto him, his skin slick and hot, my nails raking to clutch at him. His thighs slapped against mine, the heat and wetness between us so much, so good, until the deep ache of mounting pleasure tensed tight for one beautifully agonizing second, then exploded.
I cried out, my legs cinched tight to his waist, my arms around his shoulders, as the pleasure swept through me. Clinging to him as he rode my body under him, taking me over the edge. His thrusts became erratic as our bodies shuddered, the tension flowing out on a tsunami of ecstasy, leaving us boneless, breathless, sweaty and limp.
Isaac collapsed on top of me, his breath gusting hot against my neck. He tried to lift off of me but I held him there. Feeling all his weight along the length of my body. Not crushing but blanketing me. Shielding me.
“I love you, Isaac,” I whispered between breaths. “I love you and I always will.”
He raised his head and I held his face in my hands. Seeing myself reflected in the stormy gray-green that slowly calmed into a peaceful sea I’d never seen in him before. He breathed my name like a question. A hope that I meant those words and he could keep that peace forever.
I smiled. “Never doubt I love.”
“Never doubt I love.” He kissed me softly and brushed the damp strands of hair from my face. “But I swear I’ll never stop telling you.”
Three years later
Isaac
I sat in a corner of the costume tent, turning a little blue velvet box over and over in my hand. This wasn’t the safest place to inspect a secret treasure—the cast of As You Like It was in and out of the tent at intermission, drinking water and changing costumes. I turned my back to the noise and opened the box.
An old European-cut diamond sat in a nest of smaller diamonds and lacy filigree. The antique dealer called the style “pierce-work”—delicate little cuts and designs surrounding the diamond. “Quite popular in Edwardian times,” he said. “My guess is it was made in nineteen ten.”
The setting was simple and delicate. Perfect for Willow’s little hand. But the diamond was a full carat, and the sunlight streaming through a seam in the tent glinted off the stone, throwing perfect little rainbows on the canvas.