74
Chris
Ryan doesn’t miss a single movement. His eyes are glued to my body, his breath quickening with every passing second, without our bodies even touching.
I take him in, admiring his body, perfect and immense in my bed. I bite my lip at the thought that all this, now, is mine.
I stand up and slip my dress over my head, letting it drop to the floor. My bra and underwear meet the same fate, and my gaze falls instinctively to his erection, showing me just how much he wants me.
I turn to him and kneel in front of his body. I run my finger along his abs, then litter them with kisses, slowly, biting them gently. I feel them tense under my touch. His hand is in my hair, which tickles his body, almost making him laugh. I undo the button of his jeans and slide them off, along with his boxers. I stroke his erection, kissing it, and slide my tongue from the bottom to its tip, before taking it in my hand. Flames are dancing in his eyes as he watches me, what I’m doing to him. I watch him as my hand slides up and down, his hips pushing towards me, trying to quicken my movements.
“My God, Christine…this is torture.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I say.
“Please, I have to touch you…”
I look at him, hopefully.
“Trust me. I just want to touch you.”
He takes me by the hand and lies me down next to him. He traces along my face, my neck, and down to my breasts. His finger circles my nipple, as he takes the other in his mouth. He sucks it, but delicately, tasting it, making it his. Then his hand slides lower, his fingers brushing between my thighs.
I arch my back and push my legs apart, giving him the space he needs. His hand slips between my legs, and he watches my expression.
“I want to feel you like this,” he says. “And I want to watch you while I do it.”
His fingers slide inside me, pushing as deep as they can go: decisive, but not invasive. His thumb plays with my clit and then he makes his way down to taste me with his mouth. Just one lick and I nearly yell out, but those damn hands are touching me, teetering me on the edge.
“Don’t do it,” he says. “Don’t shout it. Whisper it, like it’s just for us. Intimate.”
And I do what he says.
I whisper his name between sighs, whispering with my mouth and with my heart, as Ryan’s hand leads me to paradise.
Then, Ryan O’Connor is on top of me, overpowering. He takes me, makes me his, makes me feel everything he has to offer me. And I take it without hesitation, letting him love my body and letting my body love his.
We roll around in the sheets, close, intimate. Our bodies become one, rubbing against each other.
Our hands are interlinked above my head, and I see his eyes darken, deepen, sucking me completely into him.
Our mouths are on top of each other, heading together towards the point of no return, breathing in the emotion that has nothing to do with sex: but tastes more like love.
* * *
I wake up,untangling myself from Ryan’s arms. I watch him sleep contentedly, and decide not to wake him up. I don’t want to ruin this perfect moment.
I have a quick shower and go to wake up Evan, miraculously on time for school. We have breakfast together, sitting at the kitchen counter, just like we used to.
“Where’s Ryan?” he asks.
“Asleep.”
“Lucky him,” he comments, stuffing a rasher of bacon into his mouth.
I decide to take this opportunity to talk to my son.
“Are you okay with all this?”
