He’s naked, lying on the bed with a mammoth erection, staring at me watchful and waiting, chest heaving, stomach curving in with each inhale, flattening with each exhale. Waiting. Wanting to know what I’m going to do, willing to let me take my time doing it. His hands are fisted near his hips, as if the effort to hold still requires everything he has.
I kiss his hipbone. His navel. His palms stutter over my shoulders and his breath catches. “Elyse?”
A tornado of words and sentiment and expression blast through me, but they lodge in my chest and bang and tangle in my throat, and I use my lips to kiss instead of speak. Kiss his thigh. Just below his navel.
His hands graze down my back, seeking to go lower—he peels my shirt off, and I’m naked for him from the waist up. The peaks of my breasts graze his chest, the tips stiffening and aching.
I turn my eyes up to his. Smile—a hungry, eager, teasing grin meant to telegraph my intentions.
“Elyse?” His voice is harsh, hoarse.
I curl my fingers around him, groaning in delight at the feel of him in my hands. A slow twisting downward stroke, and then I kiss him, devour him, lips and tongue singing over his salty, firm flesh, and he’s gasping in disbelief and arching his back and I’m whimpering at the taste of him and the feel of him—
And then Jamie hauls me desperately up his body and yanks my fleece sweatpants off and my underwear and his fingers tease me and slide into me and circle me into a writhing state of eye-rolling arousal, riding the edge of explosion.
I wrestle his hands away from me and straddle him, and our palms meet, fingers tangle. Our eyes lock.
“Jamie.” I lean over him, breasts draping silky soft with hardened nipples against his broad chest, and I lower myself against him. “Please.”
He lifts his head, captures my mouth with his, and our lips slide and mesh, and our tongues wrap like needy serpents around each other, twining and twisting and tasting and licking. I let go of his hand with one of mine, and his palm immediately skates down to cup my breast and then my bottom, and then caresses my back and my shoulders and my hair—everywhere. With my free hand, I reach between us and grasp him, and guide him to me. Nestle him where he belongs, where I need him.
“Ohhhhh god, oh god,” he breathes. “Elyse, you—god, you feel so good.”
I kiss him, taste his words, absorb them and let them fill me—and then I sink down around him sohefills me.
“Elyse, Jesus—Elyse!” he gasps. “God, I love you.”
I move, eyes fluttering back in my head, and I tangle our hands and rest my weight on him and writhe. A whimpered wail escapes me as he surges through me, and I’m flooded by feelings, by sensations, byhim.
There’s nothing between us, this time—just skin on sweat-slippery skin, just us bare together; slow lazy familiar perfection.
And yet this is more—so much more than the last time we made love. I feel his lips on my sternum, on my shoulder blade, on my cheekbone, on the swaying slope of my breast, and then his warm wet lips suckle the peak of a breast and I’m whimpering at the feel of his lips on me, and the sensation of his thick hot shaft inside me, and the groan in his chest as I move above him.
“Elyse…” he moans, and cups my cheeks in both hands and brings my face to his, demands my mouth—I give it to him, and in return take his tongue, demanding his breath.
I feel an upwelling within me, a drowning, subsuming, rapturous detonation. I shudder above him, lift upright and his hands scour my hips and my thighs and over my belly and clasp my breasts, and even his hands make me feel absolutely beautiful.
He’s chanting: “Perfect, perfect, perfect—”
“What’s perfect, Jamie?” I ask.
“You are. We are. This is.” His eyes meet mine as I lift up, roll my hips down, and balance on him with my hands on his chest. “You are the most gorgeous and sexiest woman I’ve ever known in my life. So damned beautiful, Elyse. You aresobeautiful.”
I choke at his words, because the shimmer in his eyes and the movement of his body and the eager relentless sweep of his hands tells me he means it down to his marrow. “You’re beautiful, Jamie.” It’s a trigger, unleashing a torrent. “You’re a beautiful person. A handsome, amazing man.” I gasp and lift and moan and fall to impale him deeply. “You’re everything, Jamie. You’re—oh,ohhh, oh god, Jamie—you’re everything.”
His eyes shine and shift and shimmer and burn. He grips my hips and helps me lift up, yanks me down around him. His hips pivot and drive, and we move together in perfect synch, in perfect rhythm.
“Thisis everything,” he grates through gritted teeth. His movements falter, his rhythm stutters.
I whimper. “Not yet, Jamie. Not yet—I’m almost there.”
He presses a thumb to my aching, sensitive center and that’s all it takes—I’m gone, I’m screaming and wailing and crying as the explosion erupts in my core and expands like wildfire through me, cell by cell, making my skin tighten and my extremities tingle, and my breath rush out in a sob, and my entire body spasm, my core clamping around him.
I don’t need to say anything—he knows. He feels it. He sees it.
“Elyse, god…yes! There’s never been anything more beautiful than you coming apart for me.” He moans and his thrusts quicken, become fast and rough, and I delight in it, speed my own movements, riding him faster. “There’s never been anything as beautiful as this. As us.”
As the climax rips through me, rips me into a million shivering pieces, I collapse onto him and cling to him. He coils his strong arms around me and rolls us over, and now I’m under him and I’m shaking and shuddering and he’s still moving, driving. I wrap my legs around his waist and palm his taut backside and grind with him as he takes his time reaching his own climax.
