Chapter 37 #2
Then August’s chest hits my back, his breath against my ear. “Hold on tight, Slayer. I’m gonna split you in two.”
“Oh, fuck!” I don’t know at which point that cry tears out of me.
Just at the suggestion? At the first press of his dick?
Because it all happens so fast, and it’s dizzying.
I have never wanted to be fucked so badly in my entire life, and this man, fucking me over his desk in his office, is hotter than all hell.
I have visions of a lifetime of this, a gorgeous lifetime spent together, just like we should have.
I want to live with him. I want to be his houseboy.
I want to come to his workplace, bring him lunch every day, have him use me exactly how he likes every time, so that he can’t think about anything but me when twelve o’cock rolls around.
I use my desperate grip on the desk to gain some leverage, pushing back, forcing him deeper into me.
“August, fuck.” His hand trembles on the back of my neck, the other landing in the groove of my hip.
“I love you fucking me,” I rasp out.
“I love fucking you. Look at this ass. Christ, the way you take me. You were made for me, Slayer.”
I believe it. I believe every single word. He’s the one. There is no better fit, no better sex, no better love than what we could have.
I press up onto my elbows, changing the angle. He runs a hand under my arm, gripping my shoulder from beneath, and pulls me back against his chest to kiss me. His other hand grabs the underside of my thigh, pushes it up, and before I know it, he has one of my knees on the desk.
Then he really slams into me.
“Ah fuck! August! Fuck!”
“Louder, Slayer. I want to hear you.”
“August, no. It’s too good, August.” It is.
It’s sex times one thousand. One billion.
It’s sex like we had the other night. Sex that makes the room glow, the walls pulse with orange, blue, colours coming to life again from the very air.
It’s sex that makes my cock hard even though I just came, that pulls these desperate, begging, whimpering sounds from my lips.
That makes me cry out, “Don’t stop. Please. Please.”
It’s so hoarse and so broken, like it’s not even me. I’ve never heard myself like this. But I don’t care. There’s no shame here. There’s heady and exposed need, primal and real, and I beg him with my moans, ‘Let me have that again. Let me taste that again.’
And he does.
He reaches around and takes my dick, fucking into me hard, his hand, wet with his hot spit, just the right sort of firm on my oversensitive cock. My arms go weak, shaky, trying to hold myself up.
I want him to come in me. I want to feel him. I need to know he loves this as much as I do. But I don’t ever want this to stop.
Kisses land on my neck, words flow that tell me all the ways I’m gorgeous to him, how much he’s enjoying me. Words that wrap me, because I know he’ll say them again when we’re done, and when we sit together, and when we eat together, and in all the quiet little moments we’ll share.
This man is my world.
This man is my everything.
The room throbs with that knowledge, with the affirmation.
The sex that is beyond sex, that is a tangible and intangible thing, that elevates me.
The walls shake. A crack runs down one, a puff of plaster blasts from the ceiling, but he doesn’t stop.
Only fucks me like I need him to, until I’m ragged and worn, a begging, broken piece of a man that cracks in two, a second orgasm blasting across the table as his body seizes, as his fingers bruise my skin when he pulls me to him, coming deep, fully ensconced, so he’s a part of me, I’m a part of him, and our appalling, racking pleasure lands us both on the desk in a pool of hot cum and sweat.
Yet kisses never tasted sweeter. Being held was never more of a comfort.
I have never felt so close to anyone, not ever, in my entire life.
I can’t live without him.
I can’t.
I won’t.
He pulls out, and I turn to him, kissing him as fiercely as I ever have. “I love you, do you know that?”
“I do. I do, and I love you. You’re perfect. You’re perfect for me.”
“We’re not breaking up, are we?”
His forehead draws tight as he presses it to mine. “No.”
“Not ever?”
A shake of his head. “No.”
“Good.” I drop my head to his chest, still breathing hard. His arms wrap around me, holding me to him. His heart beats heavy and strong, a sound I’ll never be able to go without. I tilt my face up to look at him. “How much damage do you think we did?”
His chest rises with a laugh. “Not enough. Looks like we’ll have to go again.”
I chuckle, loving the sound of his laugh against my ear, then the tingle when he leans down to kiss my hair.
“I feel like we did almost collapse the building on ourselves though,” he says, eyeing the huge gash we just put in the wall.
“Not the worst way to go.”
Another kiss on my hair. “Maybe we should get a proper room next time.”
I look up at him, so pretty with his mussed hair and crooked glasses. “Next time?”
“What if the next world doesn’t have a particle accelerator?”
“Yeah, how terrible would that be?” It’s a joke, really it is. But it sparks a little something in me.
How many worlds would I burn through to be with him?
Infinite worlds, infinite life, infinite Augusts…
The greater my desire grows, the more I worry I might actually do it.
I haven’t come down yet. Not like I might have if this were just sex. I’m still in its grip, pleasure racing through my veins, his arms and his body the sunshine on my back, warming me through.
But the thing is, I don’t want to come down.
Not ever again.
I’m not even sure I can.