Kissing him is like running my fingers across the arm of a velvet couch. It’s like watching the taffy spin at a candy store. Hypnotic. Comforting. Endless. Sinking. Slow.
He shifts, pushing me onto my back, And I let him. Luca braces himself over me and kisses me, one of his legs sliding betweenmine—but not pressing. Not pushing for anything. Like kissing me is the entire point.
When one of his hands finds my waist—toying with the hem of my shirt—and his thumb slides over my bare skin there, it feels like the most illicit thing that’s ever happened to me. And it feels like permission to let my hands wander too.
I slide them up and under his shirt, brain fuzzy at the way he gasps against me. I trail the tips of my fingers over his chest, feeling the muscle move beneath my hands, his body responding to me. He’s ticklish, jerking. But his skin is soft, even the spattering of hair over his chest is soft, and I want to take his shirt off, get the light on, examine it to see if it’s the same color as the golden hair on his head.
Remembering that hair, I move my other hand up, cupping the back of his neck—so warm and solid. I slide my fingers up against the nape of his neck. His hair is so thick, and surprisingly silky for a man, like he has a hair care regimen.
I twist my fingers in it and tug.
Luca kisses me lazily. It’s explorative, our bodies rising and falling together in the pleasure like this air mattress is a raft, and we’re lost at sea.
There’s a voice in the back of my head trying to warn me that this is a bad idea. That touching him like this, and letting him touch me—it’s only going to get me hurt. That the last time I trusted a man to take care of me, it landed me in prison.
But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s silencing the voices in my head.
I tug at Luca’s shirt, sliding my hands up his sides until he shivers at the feeling, He pulls away silently, stripping the thing over his head until his chest is bare above me.
Of course, I’ve been with other men. I turned eighteen in Spain, for fuck’s sake. I’ve seen shirtless men, seen them literally walk out of the ocean like Greek gods with the water dripping down their bodies. I’ve been the subject of their sultry stares. Made love on the beach in France.
But, for some reason, it’s the sight of Luca’s bare chest in this basement, through the dim light, that makes my soul feel weak. Like there’s a sexual mountain top, and I’ve finally reached the peak.
His chest doesn’t play with pretense. Luca doesn’t pause to flex, or present himself any certain way. In fact, he seems oblivious of what his bare torso is doing to me as he lowers himself down, like his sole objective in life is getting his mouth back on mine.
And he does, one of his hands slipping up between my head and the pillow, tugging my hair and tipping my head back to kiss me deeper. He slants his mouth over mine in a way that’s both reckless and careful.
Kissing seems to be the only point, but that doesn’t stop my body from reacting to him. I’m thoroughly wet, and my body wantsmorethan the kissing. Much, much more.
I lift my hips up from the bed, tightening my thighs around the one he has between my legs, grinding against it to get some pressure where I want it. When I gasp at the feeling of it, he swallows the sound, and seems to decide he wants to hear more.
Pulling back, Luca shifts his body so he can stay braced over me, but slides his hand up under the hem of my sleep shorts, pushing the elastic band of my cotton underwear to the side, his fingers slipping inside the fabric.
I gasp loud enough that he cups his hand over my mouth, his eyes meeting mine in the inky blackness. He’s breathing hard now, his fingers having gone completely still. He’s not even touching anything—not near my clit or entrance. But the feeling of him there is putting me in tangles. I can’t think, other than the want for him totouchme.
Slowly, he lowers his head until his lips are against my ear, whispering so quietly I wouldn’t be able to hear him if he wasn’t this close, “Do you want this?”
I nod so quickly I could strain my fucking neck. I clutch tight to him rock my hips against him, catching the edge of his hand on my clit so my entire body jerks at the sensation.
Unable to speak, I do everything in my power to communicate my consent. To tell Luca that,yes—I want this.
He lets out a breath and the slightest groan from the back of his throat, then finally,finallymoves his fingers.
Luca
Sex with Mandy was never horrible.
When we were having sex, trying to get pregnant, she definitely treated it like a duty, but I always made sure she got to orgasm. Mostly, she liked me to give her head, and it was never bad. Never awful.
In a lot of ways, it felt like training. Something you had to do to get the thing you really wanted, which was to play hockey. Training isn’t the game itself, but it can still be enjoyable if you’re working out with the team, hitting new personal bests. Seeing the ways in which your efforts in the weight room translate to successes on the ice.
I never looked forward to sex with Mandy. But I didn’t dread it either.
Butthis—this is something entirely different.
Even justtouchingWren feels like putting my hand on the surface of the fucking sun. My brain is blissed out, focused on nothing but the feelingof her. So fucking soft, almost silky.
And so, so wet. The idea that this is her body’s response to me makes my cock almost painfully hard—rubbing against her hip as I touch her, adding to the sensation of my hand between her legs.
