14. Conor #2
She moves back onto the bed, her body a pale canvas in the moonlight.
I follow, lowering myself between her parted thighs.
The scent of her arousal draws me closer, a heady perfume that makes my mouth water.
I press my lips to the inside of her knee, then trail kisses up her inner thigh, savoring the silky texture of her skin against my mouth.
“Con,” she breathes, her fingers finding my hair. The gentle tug sends electricity down my spine.
I take my time, mapping the terrain of her body with my lips and tongue. When I finally reach the apex of her thighs, I pause, my breath hot against her center. Her hips rise slightly, seeking contact.
“Please,” she whispers, the single word carrying the weight of her desire.
I dip my head and taste her with a slow, deliberate stroke of my tongue. The flavor of her floods my senses—sweet, musky, intoxicating. Her sharp intake of breath tells me everything I need to know .
“You taste incredible,” I whisper against her slick flesh, before diving back in with renewed purpose. My tongue circles her sensitive bud, applying just enough pressure to make her moan but not enough to push her over the edge.
Her thighs tremble against my shoulders as I slip one finger inside her, then two, curving them to find that spot that makes her back arch off the bed.
The combination of my fingers and mouth works her into a frenzy.
Her breathing turns ragged, punctuated by soft cries that grow more urgent with each passing moment.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice tight with need. “Oh god, Conor, don’t stop.”
I have no intention of stopping. I double my efforts, my tongue flicking faster as my fingers maintain their rhythm inside her. Her entire body goes taut, and I feel her begin to pulse around my fingers. She cries out, her hands fisting in the sheets as waves of pleasure wash over her.
I don’t let up until the last tremor subsides, until she’s gasping and pushing weakly at my shoulders. Only then do I raise my head, my lips glistening with the evidence of her pleasure.
“Come here,” she says, her voice thick with satisfaction.
I crawl up her body, positioning myself between her thighs. The head of my cock brushes against her entrance, and we both freeze at the contact. Her eyes lock with mine, dark and luminous in the moonlight.
“I need you,” I tell her, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.
“Then take me,” she answers, her hands sliding down to grip my ass, urging me forward.
I push into her with one slow, measured thrust. The sensation of her body yielding to mine, hot and tight and perfect, nearly undoes me. I have to pause, forehead pressed against hers, breathing her in as I fight for control.
When I begin to move, it’s with deliberate slowness. Each thrust is measured and controlled, allowing me to watch her face as pleasure builds again. Her eyes never leave mine, creating an intimacy more profound than the physical joining of our bodies.
“You feel so good,” she whispers, her fingers tracing patterns on my back. “So right.”
Something shifts between us then—a barrier falling away, leaving us more exposed than our nakedness already makes us. I increase my pace slightly, drinking in the sight of her beneath me, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed.
“Harder,” she urges, her nails digging into my shoulders. “I need more of you.”
The last threads of my restraint snap. I grip her hips and drive into her with renewed force, each thrust punctuated by her cries of pleasure. She wraps her legs around my waist, changing the angle, taking me deeper.
“Yes,” she hisses, her head thrown back to expose the elegant column of her throat. “Just like that.”
Our bodies move together with increasing urgency, the slap of skin on skin joining our mingled moans in the darkness. Sweat slicks our skin, making us slide against each other in a delicious friction.
“Touch yourself,” I command, my voice rough with exertion and need. “I want to watch you come again.”
Her hand slides between our bodies, her fingers finding her center. The sight of her pleasuring herself while I thrust into her pushes me dangerously close to the edge.
“Fuck, Betsy,” I groan, my rhythm faltering as heat coils tighter in my groin. “I’m close."
“Me too,” she gasps, her inner muscles beginning to clench around me. "Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t?—”
Her words dissolve into a cry as she comes apart beneath me, her body arching and trembling.
The sight of her lost in pleasure, combined with the exquisite grip of her body around mine, sends me hurtling over the edge.
I bury myself deep inside her one last time as my release crashes through me, wave after wave of intense pleasure leaving me shaking and breathless.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breathing. I roll to the side to avoid crushing her with my weight, but keep her close, unwilling to break the connection between us. She nestles against my chest, her heartbeat gradually slowing to match mine.
In the quiet aftermath, with her warm and sated in my arms, words I hadn’t planned to say rise to my lips.
“I'm falling in love with you, Betsy,” I confess, the truth of it resonating through my entire being. “I think I have been since the moment I saw you.”
She goes still against me, and for one terrible moment, I fear I’ve ruined everything. Then she raises her head, her eyes finding mine in the darkness.
“I'm falling in love with you, too,” she whispers, a smile spreading across her face. “God help me, but I am.”
Relief and joy surge through me as I pull her closer, claiming her lips in a tender kiss that holds the promise of a thousand more. Outside, the Brooklyn night continues, but in this room, in this moment, the world has narrowed to just us two.