Chapter Twenty-Five #3
And when she let out a soft cry, he ran his thumb right over the stiff peak, at the center. More confident than his younger
counterpart had been at that point. More skilled. As excited clearly, but able to hold himself back. In that kitchen, he had
come hard and fast. Thrilling to her, at the time.
But god, when he made her go first.
He played with her, gently, one hand guiding her hips to get the best possible contact on her clit. Keeping her away from the hard and heavy shape of his cock, but making sure to let it show. As if he knew what seeing it would do.
And it did.
Pleasure rolled through her in one lovely long wave, the moment she let herself think about it. Then again, as she imagined
all the times he must have hidden it. You know he made himself come every night, thinking of every almost touch and heated glance and fight that he wanted to turn
into a fuck, she thought, and god, it just built and built. It filled her up, so intense she could hardly stand it.
She had to cry out, over the sensation.
Even in this silent, stifling space, she had to.
In fact, she did.
And was only saved by the hand he put over her mouth. Just one big hand, to hold some of that bliss in. Yet somehow, it only
seemed to make it sweeter. She trembled and shuddered over the feel of it. Bucked against him, desperately, the sound of her
orgasm screaming against his grip.
But the best part was: He didn’t let go.
Of course he didn’t—he knew.
There was no guessing with him, no awkwardness, no being unsure. He understood completely that his hand made her come harder
for him, in a way she didn’t need to be told. Though he did it anyway. “Ohhh, that’s it my sweet girl,” he moaned, as she
rocked through the last delicious waves of her orgasm. “I love to see how much you love that.”
Then he just cradled her.
That hand sliding round to cup her face.
Everything feeling like a long, slow caress, of something more than just comfort.
There was a kind of marveling disbelief in it, over all they had just done.
Over her body, still sprawled in his arms. Her total abandonment to this.
And then finally to what she said, when she saw his expression turn to desperate hunger, for everything he had been starved of all these years.
“Take what you need,” she murmured, against the brush of his fingers over her lips. “Let me see what you love, again.”
And she knew what he would do, when she did.
She put her arms around him, before he picked her up. Then felt him push her against that wall of books. Like he’d said—only
better. Because now she could feel how familiar it was, too. The way he had pushed her dress up her thigh—short then, longer now. How he’d lifted her leg, until
it was hooked around his waist. Moved her hand until it was above her head, holding tight to the shelf.
And all the while that mouth on hers.
Moaning into her, so brokenly it made her want to cry.
It made her want to come all over again.
But nothing beat the sound of him unbuttoning his jeans.
The feel of his bare cock pressing between her legs—the thrill of that forbidden thing, of knowing he could fill her. And
then the way he spread her slowly, with the thick, solid length of him. Almost too much, just the way she remembered. But
made sweet by the steady way he went about it. The care he took, even though she could feel him losing that control now.
He shuddered, over the sensation of that slick give.
Then sobbed her name, too fast for her to silence him with a kiss or her hand. It rang out in that silent space, loud enough
that she knew people must have heard. She knew, and knew that there would be more to come. Yet somehow, she just couldn’t
care.
How could she, when words followed?
And oh, the words were these. “Oh, I love you. I love you; god, forgive me, I do. No man has ever loved anyone the way I love you,” he said, all in a great tumble, too sweet for her to ever want it to stop.
Then he simply sank into the hilt, so deep and quick it made her gasp.
It made her turn her head, still wanting to say those words back.
But unable to, while so swamped in sensation and memory and a million other things.
She could feel him trembling against her. Expression completely broken open, that gaze locking with hers in a way she feared
she would never untangle.
She wasn’t even sure she wanted to try.
It felt too good to be looked on with those eyes, once more.
To look back, as that familiar body moved within hers. Forged paths it had before, stoked pleasure she knew well. Gave back
what he had been waiting for, for so long. She knew he liked it when she kissed him, as he fucked her. So she did it. He loved
the feel of her grabbing his bare backside, so she tried. She urged him into her, over and over, until she knew he was close.
His soft, short moans were always the tell.
But it was the last thing that really got him.
The thing he could never hold back over. The thing that made him lose his rhythm and fuck into her hard and frantic, fearful
of doing something bloodthirsty at the point of total pleasure, she knew. But of course she also knew how to make it right.
She saw how to stay all his fears.
“It’s all right now,” she said. “You don’t have to be scared.”
Then she bared her throat and let him bite.
And in response he let go, gratefully, into nothing but bliss.