Bear #2
Even when I wasn’t sure she ever would be.
Neither of us had a choice in the matter.
She belongs to me and always has — just as I belong to her.
My bedroom is dimly lit from the candles and smells like teakwood and bourbon.
I lie Erin gently down on top of my dark comforter, right on top of the rose petals, making a handful of them float up and back down like feathers on her skin and in her hair.
She backs up until she’s resting on her elbows against the pillows, her legs crossed, eyes big and soft as she watches me and waits for what I’ll do next.
The night is completely in my hands.
I’m not fool enough to not realize how fucking lucky I am, and how much I must mean to her for her to trust me this way.
The soft, sexy sounds of the Tank album I put on filter around the space between us, and I turn the volume up a little more before I tug at my tie, releasing it first and then working every button on my suit jacket until I can shrug it over my shoulders.
Erin watches me with her bottom lip pinned between her teeth, her knees pulling up toward her chest.
I don’t take my eyes off her as I strip off my dress shirt next, and then make quick work of my belt, shoes, and socks. When I unfasten the top button of my pants, Erin snaps up, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing her hands on top of mine to stop me.
“Let me,” she pleads.
I let out a pained breath through my nose, because the way she looks up at me when she says those words, the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers tremble as she struggles with the button and then the zipper and then helps me pull the slacks over my hips, my ass, down my thighs…
it’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’m so fucking hard that I’ve pitched a tent in my briefs, and Erin gulps as she runs her palm along the length of me, the cotton fabric still between us.
I hiss, letting my head fall back, flexing my hips into the warm touch.
“Clinton,” she whispers, and when I look back down at her, she doesn’t have to say more. I can see it in her eyes.
She’s the nervous one, now.
I nod in understanding, leaning down until my fists hit the bed on either side of her and my mouth captures hers. Then I’m backing her up into the pillows again, one arm swooping around her waist to hoist her up and set her back down.
“Look at me,” I whisper when she’s settled, when her trembling fingertips are digging into my shoulders. “You are safe. Okay? You’re safe, and you’re in control. You don’t even have to say anything, I’m listening to your body.”
Her eyes gloss with tears, but she nods, grabbing my neck and pulling me in for a long, hard kiss. I kiss her back just as earnestly, sealing my promise.
And then I trail those kisses down, down, down.
Over her chin, her neck, across every inch of her collarbone, I kiss. My lips leave little invisible marks across the petite swells of her breast over the fabric of her dress, and then on the lace covering her ribs, until I’m settled between her legs on my elbows.
I grab her ass firmly and lift her up just enough to free her dress, and then I push it up over her hips, hands gripping her thighs as I press a kiss sweetly over the thin, silky fabric of her beige thong.
She gasps, fisting the sheets and arching her back.
We’ve taken it slow over the summer, but if there’s one thing I know about my girl, it’s that she tastes just as sweet as she looks, and enough time with my tongue on her will have her open and panting and pleading for more.
Or coming, if I’m not careful.
I take my time stripping her panties off, kissing each part of her leg the fabric slides down before I discard them to the side. Then, I press my lips to the arch of her foot, her ankle, dragging my tongue along her calf and inner thigh until I’m settled in and ready to eat again.
Just the first lash of my tongue against her makes her writhe.
I smirk, teasing her mound before I run my tongue flat along the length of her, soaking up her taste and how much she wants me already.
“Oh, Clinton,” she breathes, her hips grinding, seeking more friction when I do the same thing again.
I answer by pointing my tongue and circling the tip around her clit — once, twice, three times, quick and slick, before I lap her up long and slow.
I love that she calls out my name — my real name — not Bear, not God, not the myriad of things I’ve heard before. When she says my name, I’m like a dog snapping to attention for its master, the syllables of it from her lips a reminder of who I belong to.
Sliding my hands under her ass, I grip where her thighs meet her hips and tug her closer, feasting on her perfect, swollen, pink pussy as she squirms. She’s twisting her hands in the covers and breathing so hard I almost wonder if she wants me to stop, if she’s trying to get away, but any time I let up on the pressure, she mewls like a kitten, whimpering for more.
When her legs start really quaking around me, she snaps up suddenly, pressing her hand into my chest to break my contact. And when I bring my eyes to hers, sliding the back of my wrist across my damp lips, she flushes before calling me up to her with one come here wave of her finger.
I fist the front of her dress and yank, pulling her to sit so I can strip it up overhead in one fell swoop. I unclasp her bra next, sucking each perfect, pebbled mound between my teeth as soon as they’re exposed. Erin clings to me, holding me to her, moaning and soaking up every touch.
When my lips are on hers again, I blindly reach into the drawer of my bedside table, fumbling a bit until I withdraw the golden foil packet. I bring it to my teeth and rip it open, making quick work of my briefs, and when I sit back on my knees, Erin’s hand covers mine once more.
“Can I?” she asks, her eyes on the condom, and then on my length.
My answer is simply to give her the condom, and then we both watch as her shaking fingers bring it to my tip, stretching it over with a slow, rolling motion.
She inches it down, and then wraps her hands around my shaft and the condom completely, rolling it the rest of the way until it covers me as close to the base as it can get.
I nearly come just at the sight of it, the feel of her hands squeezing and working me with her perfect little breasts heaving with each breath.
When the condom’s in place, she swallows, sitting back a little and bringing her shy gaze to mine.
Leaning over until I can press my lips to hers once more, I sweep my arms around her and gently lift, sitting in her place as I hoist her up and over until she’s straddling my lap. When she’s there, I keep her up on her knees, holding her hips with my hands and kissing her long and soft.
“You’re safe,” I remind her when I break the kiss, trailing my lips over her jaw. “And you’re in control.”
She nods on an exhale, but before I can do anything else, she grabs my face in her hands, holding my gaze to hers.
“I love you.”
The words slam into me, but not from surprise and not from fear — from relief. Because I’ve always known it, haven’t I? I’ve always known Erin loved me, just as I’ve always known I love her.
I press my forehead to hers. “There is no measurement for how much I love you.”
Even with our foreheads connected, I see the way her lips curve into a smile, the way a lone tear leaks from her eyes. When she pulls back, I thumb it away easily.
Then my hands are back on her hips, waiting, holding her steady and letting her decide what to do next.