Chapter Eleven #2
“Take the rest off,” she commanded, “and I’ll tell you.”
He stood, unbuckling his belt deliberately, watching her watch him. When he pushed his jeans and underwear down in one movement, Amelie felt her mouth go dry.
He was thick and hard, flushed dark with arousal, and the sight of him, standing naked before her, wanting her, made her ache between her thighs.
“Well?” he asked, climbing back onto the bed, crawling over her until she was trapped beneath him.
“Come here,” she whispered, and pulled him down into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate need.
Grant’s mouth left hers, trailing down her throat, to her collarbone, before closing around one nipple and sucking hard.
Amelie cried out, her back arching off the mattress, her fingers finding his hair and holding him there.
“Tell me,” he said against her breast, his hand sliding down her stomach until they reached her slick pussy.
“Tell me how you want me to touch you.”
“Inside," she gasped, already spreading her legs for him. “I want your fingers inside me. I want to feel how much you want me.”
He groaned, pressing one finger into her slowly, watching her face. “You’re so wet. Is this for me, Amelie? Are you wet for me?”
“Yes, only for you,” she confirmed, rolling her hips to take him deeper. “Fuck, Grant. That feels so good.”
He worked another finger into her that made her moan his name. His thumb found her clit, circling with perfect pressure, and she felt herself climbing fast, too fast, thirteen years of celibacy from this man making her body desperate and responsive.
“Grant,” she panted, “I need you. I need you inside me. Please.”
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he said, wicked and relentless, dipping his head to replace his thumb with his tongue.
Amelie screamed, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in as he licked and sucked and fucked her with his tongue. She was babbling as he drove her toward the edge with skilled precision, with the confidence of a man who remembered exactly how she liked to be touched.
“Grant,” she panted, “if you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to—”
“Going to what?” he asked, lifting his head, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark with lust.
“Going to die,” she said, half-laughing, half-sobbing with need. “I’m going to come without you.”
He was over her in an instant, positioning himself between her thighs, guiding himself to her entrance.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, teasing her with the head of his cock, sliding it through her wetness, pressing just enough to make her whine. “You want me to fuck you, Amelie? You want me to fill you up after all this time?”
“Yes,” she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him down. “Yes, Grant, please, I need you to fuck me. I need to feel you. I need—”
He thrust into her in one long, steady push, not stopping until he was buried to the root, and Amelie’s words dissolved into a cry that was part pleasure, part relief, part homecoming.
“Christ,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers as his body shook. “You feel so fucking good, Amelie.”
“Don’t stop,” she urged, rolling her hips, feeling him everywhere. “Fuck me, Grant. Make me remember what I’ve been missing. Make me yours again.”
He began to move, pulling out slowly, pushing back in with a force that made the bed frame creak, and Amelie met him thrust for thrust, her nails scoring his back, and her voice rising in explicit encouragement that would have embarrassed her with anyone else.
“Harder,” she demanded.
He captured her mouth in a kiss that swallowed her words, and then he was fucking her with abandon, with the single-minded focus of a man who had waited half his life to be exactly where he was, and Amelie held on, meeting him, matching him, and finally feeling at home.
◆◆◆
Grant felt Amelie tighten around him, her body going rigid beneath him as her nails dug into his shoulders.
But he didn’t stop. The need to claim her and remind her that they were real and here together drove him harder than he intended.
He was pounded into her, each thrust sending the headboard against the wall.
She moaned his name as her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He felt her begin to flutter around him, her breath hitching in that way he remembered when she was about to come.
“I’m so close, Grant,” she gasped, her eyes finding his.
He shifted his angle, grinding against her with each thrust, and felt her begin to unravel.
“Now,” he commanded, his voice barely human, stripped raw by everything she made him feel. “Come for me now, Amelie. Let me feel you.”
She cried out, her back arching, her body clamping down on him in rhythmic waves that dragged his own release from him.
He buried his face in her neck, groaning her name as he pumped into her through the aftershocks.
When he finally stilled, breathing hard against her sweat-dampened skin, he realized he was crushing her. He made to roll away, but her legs tightened around his waist, holding him in place.
“Don’t you dare move,” she panted.
“I don’t want to crush you,” he said.
He felt her arms and legs loosen, and he shifted, rolling to the side, and pulled her against his chest.
They lay tangled together, legs intertwined, her head on his shoulder, and Grant felt something enormous settle in his chest.
It had always been her, and it would only ever be her.
“I love you,” he said, and kissed the side of her head.
She lifted her head, and he could see that her eyes were wet. “I love you too.”
He kissed her forehead.
She settled back against him, her fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. “You know,” she said, her voice muffled, “you’re still surprisingly spry for an old man.”
He snorted, swatting her hip lightly. “Old man? I’m thirty-seven.”
“Practically ancient,” she teased, as her fingers danced lower on his stomach. “Should I be worried about your heart? All that exertion?”
Grant caught her wrist, his eyes darkening with intent. “You want to see what this old man can do?”
He rolled them suddenly, pinning her beneath him, his hips settling between her thighs.
“I was being polite before. But you want to question my stamina?” He rocked against her, already half-hard again, and watched her breath catch. “Big mistake, Amelie.”
She laughed, breathless, her eyes bright with challenge. “Prove it.”
“Round two starts now,” he announced, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him until she straddled his hips. “And this time, you’re doing the work. Show me what I’ve been missing all these years.”
Amelie sat up, her hair falling around her shoulders, her skin glowing in the moonlight coming in through the windows. She looked like a goddess, like a dream he was terrified of waking from.
She positioned herself above him, her hand wrapping around his length, guiding him to her entrance.
“You’re sure?” she asked, teasing now, circling him but not taking him in. “This old heart can handle it?”
“Amelie,” he growled, his hands finding her hips, “if you don’t slide that wet pussy of yours onto my cock, I’m going to flip you back over and remind you exactly how much energy I’ve got stored up.”
With a smile, she sank down onto him slowly, her head falling back, her moan filling the room. Grant’s hands tightened on her hips, his eyes devouring the sight of her taking him in, her body accepting him, moving above him.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough. “Show me how you want it. Use me, Amelie. I’ve been waiting so long to be yours again.”
She began to move, finding her rhythm, her hands braced on his chest.
“Grant, you feel so good,” she gasped.
“It’s only going to get better,” he promised, thrusting up to meet her as he watched her unravel above him. “Now ride me like you mean it.”
She leaned down, her breasts brushing his chest, her mouth finding his ear. “You are mine, Grant, she whispered, her voice breaking as she sped her movements. “I love you.”
Grant held her hips, guiding her as he lost himself in the sensation of her. “Then take what’s yours,” he commanded.