“Thai.” I palm his cheek. “Just be you. Just be mine.”
He finds my mouth, then, and claims it. His tongue slashes into my mouth and his lips are strong and firm on mine. His hands clasp in my own, fingers twining, pressing my hands to the pillow above my head and he’s above me, knees between my thighs. I hook my thighs around his hips and cling to him, lift up to meet him.
It’s a kiss without end, breathing for each other—breathing each other. Tasting, delving, subsumed.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the kiss. Hands joined, lips locked, tasting each other.
But I need more, and I need him and I know how I want it.
I roll into him, leverage him to his back. Our hands still joined, I slide astride him, and now I’m sitting on him, his hands pressed to the pillow. I slide against him, stroking his hard erection between the lips of my sex. His moan is raw. I tease him with this, slowly rubbing myself on him, almost taking him inside me but never quite doing so—rubbing the head of him against my clit until I’m gasping and biting my lip and grinning with glee and wild delight, and still I tease him. He just crushes my hands with his powerful grip and holds still for it. Grunting, moaning. Grind his thickness between my nether lips, back and forth, my wetness coating him, making the slide slick and smooth.
“Delia, god, my god Delia—what are you doing to me?”
I press my weight onto our hands, leaning forward. Brush the tips of my breasts against his face, tease them against his lips, over his eyelids. Torture him with them, until he growls and nips at me, suckles my nipple into his mouth, but I laugh and pull away from his hunting, questing mouth, and go back to brushing them against his mouth, his lips, his cheeks. Then, finally, I let him have them, lowering myself so he can glut himself on me.
He’s throbbing against me. I’ve teased him—and myself—long enough.
I grasp him and guide him to me. One hand braced on my chest, I lift up and nestle the broad round head of him to my seam. Tease him up and down the slit, until he’s nuzzling in between the lips, and I sink a little closer to him. Take a tiny bit of him. Teasing us both. He’s not breathing, jaw gritted, brow furrowed, chest lifted, hips flexed upward, abs taut. I brush him up and down, slowly bringing him into me, slowly letting myself drift lower—millimeter…by millimeter…by millimeter.
“Ohmygod, Delia,” he breathes. “What are you doing to me?”
I don’t answer. I have about half of his length inside me, and I want all of it. But instead, I flick my hips backward, so he nearly falls out of me. My hands are both braced on his chest, now. I use only the roll of my hips to tease him, to torture us. Flit up, away, and slowly, slowly lower myself around him, gradually take him again, inch by inch.
His hands roam up my thighs to my hips, cling there, and the fierce grip of his fingers in the flesh of my ass tells me how badly he wants to haul me down hard, to drive deep.
But he doesn’t.
He barely moves, waiting for me.
He loves this torture as much as I do—and our eyes lock, as I pause. Just the plump tip of him splitting me open, just inside me.
I flutter there, light quick rolls of my hips.
He moans.
I do this until he’s gasping and his groans are maddened and rough.
And then I clash my mouth over his and slam down onto him all at once, and we both groan into the kiss.
Away, then. Into the wild rhythm of hearts lost together, of love being made with crazed abandon.
He drives up into me and his hands grip the bell of my hips and helps me crash down onto him, and then he’s holding me apart so he can slide deeper and I’m leaning forward cradled in his arms and he’s using his hips and thighs to drive into me and I’m whimpering every time he enters me, deeper and deeper. Cry with the beauty of us. At the perfection of all that we are, together.
“Thai!” I cry out.
“Delia,” he responds, in a rough snarl.
I lose track of everything but him slamming inside me with beautiful perfect strength, filling me until I ache with the nascent explosion, until I blossom with the sunfire heat of climax. There’s nothing but us. But our union, our bodies so made for each other crashing together.
I topple over the edge and falling screaming into climax, crying his name and dripping tears onto his golden flesh and still we move together, and I’m quaking with orgasm still when he finally lets go.
There’s no screaming in this—there’s only my voice lost in breathless awe, only him too shattered to even whisper my name. He bursts into me and I’m filled with the hot flood, and I ride him for more, and now it’s my movements that are desperate and wild, driving more and more out of him, until he’s trembling and gasping and slips out of me, spent.
Finished, panting, sweating, I collapse onto him, and his hands explore my body, scratching gentle patterns from shoulders to buttocks.
I’m breathing against the side of his throat; I feel his pulse hammering crazily against my nose. “I remember what I said last night,” I whisper. “And I meant it.”
He palms my cheek, brings my face up so our eyes meet. “I am totally, absolutely, one hundred percent, head over heels in love with you, Delia McKenna. It scares the absolute hell out of me, and I’m okay with that.”
