49. Meg
49
MEG
N ow, to me, sex was supposed to be spontaneous and carefree, with zero expectations attached. No pressure, no rules. Simple and fun. It was like hitting pause on the serious stuff and just letting go.
So, imagine my confusion when having this man inside me became the essence of my existence. My everything. Like no one else could ever live up to my expectations after this.
When Byron entered me with one deep, slow thrust, it was stepping barefoot into a lightning storm. And it was the way he looked at me like he couldn’t decide whether to frame me or feast.
Then he moved, and my breath caught in my throat. He moved with the kind of confidence that should be illegal in at least three countries and heavily taxed in the rest.
And yet, there was reverence in the way he held me, a man discovering a sacred text, determined to read every line aloud, slowly, until the room was soaked in poetry.
He kissed me then, a slow, deep kiss that melted away the last of the space between us, and I moaned into his mouth, the sound barely leaving me before his lips crushed harder against mine.
“If this is punishment, sign me up,” I mumbled breathlessly.
The timbre of his laughter vibrated through my skin, and his body shifted against mine, and his every thrust after that was intentional, designed to unmake me, slow enough to tease, deep enough to destroy. His gaze never leaving mine.
My body met his with greedy precision, like we’d rehearsed this in our dreams.
I could only try to breathe, my fingers tracing the lines of his back, feeling the tension in his muscles.
“Megan,” Byron whispered, his voice curling around the syllables, as if saying my name was releasing something in him.
The tension between us wound tighter, deeper, with each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. I could feel it, the world holding its breath, waiting for me to break.
And then, with one last, punishing thrust, everything snapped. The pressure exploded inside me, a wave of heat so intense that I couldn’t breathe.
Byron followed right behind me, the pleasure dragging a ragged groan from him. And finally, he gently slumped against me, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was gentle, consuming, his hands stroking me, easing us both down from the high.
“Well,” I finally managed. “That was not too bad.”
He rolled onto his back, pulling me to him. “That’s a joke, right, just so we are clear.”
I giggled into his chest. “But to meet my standards, I guess we’ll have to do it again, and again, until we get it right.”