Chapter Seven
Beth
I’ve died. I’ve actually died and gone to heaven, there’s no doubt about it. I’m lying here, and a gorgeous guy has his head buried between my legs, and he’s doing something magical with his tongue, I’m sure, because my whole being feels infused with pleasure, and he’s only just started.
Jude liked sex, but he went about it the same way he goes about everything else—at a million miles an hour.
He was a considerate lover, but he wasn’t one of those guys who like to spend hours lovemaking.
If he felt the need, he wanted to get us both off as quickly as possible and then go back to whatever he was doing.
Oh no, I don’t want to think about Jude now, not while I have another man’s tongue inside me.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and exhale slowly as Archer brushes his tongue up before teasing my clit with the tip. I’m not going to stress about it. I literally broke up with my ex only hours ago; it’s no surprise he’s still on my mind.
And now I’m in bed with another man. Eek.
A man whose oral skills are, I have to say, fantastic.
Oh my, and now he’s adding his fingers to the mix, and I feel as if I’m walking along the cliff top and he’s slowly pushing me toward the edge.
It’s such a slow build up that it’s as if I can feel every tiny muscle beginning to tense inside, every neuron firing. Ohhh…
I let my elbows fall to the side, looking up at the ceiling. The most terrible thing about this whole situation is that I don’t feel guilty. That surprises me. But I know why.
Archer suddenly lifts up, and I blink several times, coming down from wherever I was floating. He moves up the bed, leaning over me and looking down at me.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I blush at the thought of him picking up that I was distracted. “I’m so sorry.”
He lowers down by my side and takes me in his arms. “It’s all right. I expected it to hit you at some point.”
“No,” I say hastily, “it’s not what you think.” I lift a hand to cup his face and stroke his beard with my thumb. “I was just enjoying it so much, and it occurred to me that I don’t feel guilty, and I know why.”
“Why?”
“Jude and I mentally and emotionally parted ways some time ago. Today, we sealed the deal, that’s all.”
He frowns, and I trace the lines with a finger. “I thought you were happy,” he says.
“No, I wasn’t. I just didn’t realize it. And now… I feel… liberated.” And I slide my hand into his hair and pull his head down to kiss him.
Our bodies are pressed together, and I can feel his long, hard erection against my stomach. Suddenly, I’m desperate to have him inside me. I shift up the bed, hook a leg over his hips, and move until the tip of his erection slides beneath me.
He inhales, and then his hand clamps on my hip, holding me still. He lifts his head and looks at me. “Ah.”
“Ah what?”
“I’ve just realized. I don’t have any condoms.” His lips twist. “I haven’t needed them in a long time.”
I don’t know why, but it fills me with a little glow that his bedside drawer isn’t full of packets.
“I’m on the pill,” I murmur. “I trust you, and you can trust me.”
He hesitates, looking into my eyes. I can feel his indecision like a ribbon wound tightly around him, keeping him still. I know he wants me, but for this man, Doing The Right Thing is more important than anything else. Or it has been.
I move my hips, just a little, and feel the tip of his erection press very slightly into me.
He groans and closes his eyes. “Beth…”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
He opens his eyes, his lips curving up a little.
“I want you,” I whisper. “I don’t know why that’s a bad thing.”
He touches his lips to my forehead. “It’s not.”
“Do you want me?”
He kisses my nose. “Very much.”
“All the time we’ve wasted…” I feel a twist inside at the thought. “I don’t want to wait any longer.” I move my hips, pushing down a fraction more, and it proves to be his undoing.
He groans, slides his hand to the middle of my back, and holds me against him as he slowly slides inside me.
We both inhale, hold our breaths, then exhale.
Ahhh… that feels amazing. The sensation of being filled, right to the top, is physically exquisite.
But better than that is the knowledge that this kind, gentle, sexy man who I’ve admired from afar for so long desires me, and wants me, right now.
Our passion isn’t caught up in an elaborate web of arguments and passive aggressive comments and bribes; it’s not makeup sex or duty sex or pity sex.
This is what true intimacy is. A longing to be close to the other person. A delight in sharing yourself.
Our lips touch lightly, and we kiss as we begin to make love, because even though it sounds soppy and romantic, that’s how it feels.
For a while, we move in unison, him holding me tightly while he thrusts up, but me still managing to rock my hips in tandem with his, while I kiss him and stroke his back and his arms, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my fingers.
His hands glide over my back, my breasts, my butt, my thighs, as he acquaints himself with my shape and skin and muscles, the occasional growl of approval rumbling in his chest.
After a while, he rolls onto his back, bringing me with him, and I push up so I’m sitting astride him. He’s still inside me, and when I get comfortable and begin moving, he closes his eyes blissfully and says, “That feels amazing.”
I brush my hands over his chest and shoulders, admiring the tight muscles, curling hairs, and tanned skin, then take his hands in mine and pin them above his head, saying, “Gotcha.”
“Oh no.” He feigns alarm. “You’ve captured me.”
“You’re at my mercy.”
“Somebody please rescue me.” His lack of enthusiasm makes me laugh, and he smiles as I bend to kiss him.
“You feel so good,” I whisper, kissing up his jaw to his ear and breathing on it.
He sighs. “You look amazing. You’re so beautiful, Beth.”
“Aw.” I kiss back to his mouth, releasing his hands, and he lowers them to hold my hips as he pushes up, deeper inside me.
“Ohhh…” I feel the first stirrings of an orgasm, deep inside, and sit upright again, moving with purpose now.
He lifts his hands to my breasts, teasing my nipples, and I moan, lowering a hand between my legs.
He swears and says, “Oh yeah, make yourself come.”
It doesn’t take long. Less than thirty seconds later, my climax hits, and I clench around him, gasping with pleasure as the amazing pulses claim me.
When I’m done, I fall forward onto his chest, groaning. “Beautiful girl,” he says, and before I can do anything, he holds me tightly, lifts up, and flips me onto my back.
I gasp, both at the ease with which he did it, and the new sensation of him changing the angle. On his knees, supporting himself on both hands, he looks down at me, and his eyes are hot, intense.
He bends and kisses me. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about doing this?”
I suck my bottom lip as he moves slowly inside me. “Minutes? Maybe an hour or two?”
“Years,” he states. “Years and years.” His brow furrows as he pushes forward, burying himself deep inside me, and I groan. “You feel so good,” he whispers.
“I hope you’re not disappointed.” I’m only partly teasing. I’ve not had lots of partners, and it’s not as if I know any clever tricks in the bedroom.
But he glares at me and says, “Don’t say things like that.”
I say innocently, “Or what?”
His eyes flare. “Oh, I see. Like that, is it?” He kisses my jaw and up to my ear, and whispers, “I didn’t expect you to be a brat.”
“And I didn’t expect you to be bossy.”
“Looks as if we’re surprising each other.
” He moves back again, looking into my eyes.
My heart’s racing. A switch has been flipped, and suddenly the temperature in the room has shot up by a few degrees.
It’s hot anyway, and our skin is covered with a slight sheen of sweat, so our bodies stick together every time they touch.
“I thought we were making love,” I whisper. “But now I’m not so sure.”
“There’s always love involved,” he murmurs.
“Even though it might not look like it for a few minutes.” He chuckles and thrusts hard, and I groan, lifting my legs to wrap around his waist. “Yes,” he says, obviously approving of the position, and then he begins moving with purpose, thrusting deep, and grinding against me with every push of his hips.
It feels amazing, just like sex should—hot, and passionate, and intense, and involving every single part of me from my head to my toes, which curl as pleasure ripples through me.
“Beth,” he says simply, “ahhh…”
He’s beginning to lose control, and the thought excites me and fills me with a kind of smug fulfillment at the knowledge that I’m driving him to the edge.
Our bodies cling together, sticking and sliding, our hands and mouths hot, and I’m so turned on and sensitive that I feel after-ripples of pleasure all the way through me.
And then he stiffens and jerks as he comes, and I feel him twitch inside me as each magnificent pulse of pleasure claims him.
He shudders, and tears prick my eyes because it’s so wonderful to watch him, and I want to drink in the moment and freeze frame it, stay here for the rest of my life, because it’s so innocent and easy and simple, just me and him, just the pleasure of the soul and body, just connection and intimacy and being one.
But time never stops, and I sigh as he exhales in a rush and opens his eyes to look into mine.
Our lips curve up, and then he lowers down and kisses me. “Mmm.” He brushes his lips against mine. “That was amazing.”
“It really was.” I feel as if I’m emitting a radiant glow. “So good…”
He turns us so we’re lying side by side, and continues to kiss me for a long while, still inside me. When he eventually withdraws, I sigh, missing him, but he still holds me, and I realize how much I’ve wanted this connection.