He laughs again, but his mouth moves with slow hungry kisses to my breasts, and his fingers find my sex and touch me gently, softly, while his mouth moves over my breasts, one and the other, kissing and licking and suckling until my spine arches to crush my throbbing, hard nipples into his mouth, and his fingers delve slowly against my clit and I rise and I rise, and his lips are on my nipples and his tongue laves them and flicks them and my belly is a pool of boiling heat and the pressure is billowing through me and building and then when he slicks two fingers into my sex with a curling swipe and smears my essence over me, I explode. Gyrate against his fingers and then he’s kissing over my belly and my hip bones and then his lips fasten on my clit and his tongue replaces his fingers and those thick digits go into me and thrust and press and curl and massage.
I come, and I come.
I scream through it, letting the wild beauty of climax rip me open.
I lose myself.
He doesn’t relent even when my climax subsides, but his tongue and lips slow and kiss me with soft delicacy, and his fingers, three of them now, slide in and out, slow and shallow. And then I feel it yet again, another wave approaching.
“Wes, ohmygod, Wes.” I lift my hips to meet the wave, and his tongue circles me to bring it closer and I’m lit afire yet again.
I spasm, tightening around his fingers and grinding against his mouth.
Now, when the orgasm finally relinquishes me from its grip, I pull him up. He kisses his way back up my body. He settles over me. Gazes at me.
He’s hard between my thighs, and desire for him is a raging inferno, stoked to the wildest fury by the onslaught of orgasms he’s just given me. I reach between us and grasp him. I’m still shuddering with aftershocks, but need is already quaking through me anew.
“Make love to me now, Wes,” I breathe.
“Do we need—”
I shake my head, cut him off. “No.”
He doesn’t press it further. Just gazes down at me. Holds my eyes. His hand brushes against mine as he fits it between our bodies; I’m stroking him slowly, caressing his length with eager hands. He touches my opening. I feel him. Lift my hips and move closer to him. Breathe in slowly. I thought I’d be nervous when this moment came, but I’m not. There’s only need.
Together, we guide him to me.
When the moment comes, I take over. Fit the broad, plump head of him to my seam. Oh, oh god. Fingers and tongue and lips did not prepare me for this. I hold his eyes and focus on feeling. On sensation. On us. He shifts his weight forward, and his whole body is tense. He’s vibrating with need, with desire, with love. But he’s letting me guide us. Holding utterly still, moving as I need him to move. His arms are thick pillars of muscle beside my face; I clutch one, and I bite my lip as I wriggle my hips to take a hint more of him. He lets out a hoarse hiss of breath. Jaw drops.
His forehead touches mine. I lift my lips to his. Kiss him. Taste myself on his mouth and lick his lips and tangle our tongues and move to accept more of him. I ache with the thickness of him within me. Now that he’s inside me, I feel…I don’t know. A million things.
I ache.
There’s a burn of fullness, a sting.
Our gazes are locked and he moves against me, and I feel his belly sliding against mine and there’s a brief sharp pain. He withdraws without fully pulling out of me, and some instinct drives me to touch myself. The thrilling pulse of arousal rises in me, and he replaces my fingers with his, and it’s better, his touch is so much better. He kisses me and touches me, and I’m full of him, and the pain is less, and as his touch brings me higher, my body responds and clings to him and I feel desire seep through me and I feel renewed need wash over me. Now, the feel of him inside me isn’t foreign or alien or an intrusion, but a welcome and wild filling.
I need…
I need more.
I lift my hips to press against him, and ohgod, that feels good, to feel him push deeper, and there’s an ache again as he moves deep into me, but his touch and my ascent to climax makes that ache delicious.
“Wes!” I whimper.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice tight.
I nod. Cup his head in one hand and a hard taut cheek of his butt in the other. “This is beautiful.”
“Does it hurt?”
I shake my head. “Not anymore.”
He lets out a sigh. “I was worried I was hurting you.”
I pull him closer, and he groans, pushes into me. “Not anymore. Now it just feels…” I trail off as I lift to meet his thrust, and ecstasy surges through me. “Oh god, Wes. So good. It feels so good, now.”
We’re moving in concert, now. He drives into me and I surge to meet him; he groans and I answer with a cry, a whimper. He growls my name and I whisper his.
