8. Riley
Riley
A s soon as our mouths meet, he pulls me down on to the heavy rug in front of the fireplace, the shadows dancing on the walls around us as I clutch on to him for dear life.
I feel his heart pounding through his shirt, as though the enormity of all the emotion he has suffered through till this instant is burning through every inch of his body.
I move on top of him, pulling aside the belt that has just about kept the clothes hanging on to me, but I am ready to bear myself to him now, bear myself completely.
I have seen him at such a vulnerable moment, and he has not run from me, as much as he has tried to pull back.
It’s only fair I give him the same trust, the same intimacy.
I move on top of him, straddling him as I toss aside my shirt and pull off my pants – the warmth of the fire licks at my bare skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze.
He runs his hands along my waist, tracing out the shape of me under his fingers, and lets out a low, appreciative groan.
I trail my hands from his scalp to his face, feeling the scrape of his stubble under my fingertips, watching as his mouth opens to try and taste me.
But I am in control now, at least, for this moment.
I dip my fingertips against his tongue, and I feel him stir beneath me at the sensation, clearly already aching for more.
"Lay there," I order him softly, as my hands continue their journey down, undoing the leather straps that keep his shirt tied and working their way along his body – his leather jacket is pooled underneath us, like it’s created a little portal that is meant only for the two of us, a place where I can make him feel good and can lose myself to the pleasure only he seems to be able to gift to me.
Once I have undone the straps of his shirt, I pull them open, exposing his strong chest and the smattering of hair across it – working downward. I do the same to his pants, pushing them down far enough that his manhood springs free.
I flick my tongue over my lip as I drink in the sight of him, this time in no rush, and wrap my hands around his girth. My fingertips meet around the far side but just barely, and he grunts as the sensation starts to get the better of him.
I lift myself slightly so that I am hovering just over the top of him, the flames warming my skin against the cool air drifting in from outside. The door is still half-open, and I am aware that someone could come by at any moment to pick up this or that and catch us in the act, but I don’t care.
Maybe I even want them to see us together, to prove to anyone watching as well as myself that I can’t deny this for another moment...
Wyatt, apparently running out of patience beneath me, grips my hips and pulls me down on top of him in one swift motion, bucking himself up to meet me in the same instant. I cry out, my nails raking along his bare chest, and listen to the deep, animal noise that escapes him as he fills me.
Despite all the decades between us, all the differences in our experiences, there is so much that draws us together, and it all seems to crystallize in the shape of this physical pleasure. My eyes, hazy, search for his, and when they find him, I begin to move.
My hips seem to set their own pace, concious of the pleasure I am craving right now – it's more than just a pure physical sensation, but one that pulses deep down inside of me, consuming me. The warmth in my belly flutters with every motion, his hands groping greedily for my thighs and my ass and my waist, and the way he looks at me, I know he’s never wanted a woman more in his life than he wants me right now.
I stir my hips on top of him, tipping my head back, letting my hair rush down to my back as his fingers trace a line up my spine.
He is driving himself into me now in long, hard strokes, the kind that push any logical thought from my mind, all the questions about how I got here and what I am doing here fading in the face of how good he makes me feel.
And, when I manage to focus my gaze once more, our eyes meet – and the pleasure blossoms to an impossible height, teetering there for a moment before I go over the edge and into my release.
I cry out, the sound tearing from some place deep inside of me, my body squeezing around him like it never wants to let him go.
With a grunt, he thrusts up into me and reaches his own release, tipping over the edge as he floods me with his seed. There’s something so primal about it, so reckless – but something that feels so right, as though this is where I belong, right here.
Our bodies connect in the most base and intimate way. When I came to Colorado, I needed to clear my head and reconnect with nature, and I could never have imagined that I’d have been able to do it in the arms of a man who makes me feel more alive than anyone ever has before.
I rock my hips on his a few more times as I drink in the expression on his face, making sure I commit every moment of it to memory.
Whatever has happened here to bring us to this place, whatever forces have united to put me in his arms, I might not understand them, or even trust them fully, at least, not yet.
But I know that I don’t want to be anywhere else right now. And, for the moment, at least – perhaps that’s all that matters.