Harlowe #2
I let out a shaky whimper of need as he pumps his fingers harder, his thumb finding my clit and taking up a lazy circling path that is in stark contrast to the movement his other fingers are making, pressing in hard against the sensitive spot inside me.
My eyes close and my head tips back. Zander’s mouth closes over my nipple and his teeth graze the sensitive bud while he licks after the slight sting.
I feel the orgasm building, Zander working up the tension and stealing my breath as he continues to pump his fingers.
His tongue flicks over my sensitive nipple again just as he crooks his fingers and pushes hard and I shatter, my cry breaking free as my pussy clenches and my knees sag.
Zander catches me, pinning me to the wall and letting me ride his hand until my pussy releases his fingers, until I can open my eyes and stand on my own again.
“Zander,” I say, pulling him closer, needing him inside of me, a need so great it’s unintelligible. “I need you, please,” I whisper, my fingers in his hair, on his face, my lips on his skin.
“Tell me what you want, what you need.” He brushes water off my face with his thumb, his eyes bright, intense as he stares into my face. “Or you have to tell me to stop, because I'm going to fuck you and make you mine, and I won’t be able to let you go, Lowe. This is it. You’re mine, baby.”
I feel my eyes prick and my chest squeezes at his words.
I want that, so badly, but this is a line he’s drawing.
We’ve already crossed it, but he’s giving me an out.
He’s telling me there’s still a chance we can walk away unscathed, unaffected, no matter how much we would be lying to ourselves.
This is us dropping the roles and being our authentic selves, letting us feel the things we’ve been dancing around, no matter how fucking bad it’s going to feel when we have to leave them behind at the end of the trip.
I think a tear slips free from my eye, but it mixes instantly with the spray from the shower.
“I want you, Zander. All of you. I want every piece of you. Give me everything. I want you to belong to me as much as I belong to you.”
“Pretty words, Lowe, such pretty fucking words,” he whispers, his eyes screwing up tightly.
When he opens them, his storm cloud eyes look like a fire has been lit behind them, smoke and ash swirling and rising in those depths, and I know it’s the restraint, the no attachments, and the rules he lives by to keep himself walled off burning to the ground that feeds those twin fires.
His head lowers, and he captures my mouth with his, the kiss searing hot, carrying the fire from his eyes and igniting me in turn.
I burn for him, flames licking through me, catching on the dry kindling of feeling rootless and having finally found my home in him.
Embers spark and burn out all the memories of not being good enough, knowing he’s choosing me now.
Flames catch in the darkest parts of me where I feel I will never amount to anything, giving me twin flames to light up those places and I feel a glimmer of hope for the first time that I can have a purpose beyond being a pretty face.
A wildfire catches, warming me from the inside out with the knowledge that I can belong to someone like Zander Olsen.
Zander fists his cock in one hand and I lift my leg to his hip as he notches it at my center and pushes in, keeping his eyes trained on mine with each slow inch of him filling me.
“You’re mine. Say it for me, baby,” he commands, voice rough, low, and broken, like the fire that is burning in his eyes is raging through the rest of him, too, and he’s struggling, needing my reassurance that he’ll come out the other side whole, better.
“I’m yours, Zander,” I respond, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and threading my fingers in his hair, pulling until his eyes meet mine. “And you are mine. You are all fucking mine.”
Zander’s smile is all male pleasure, possession, and need, so when his hands grip my thighs tightly and he backs me roughly into the wall, I’m ready for the punishing fucking I know he is so capable of.
But instead, he takes his time, shallows out his thrusts and angles his hips so he hits a new part of me that feels even more incredible than I expected.
He hooks my ankles behind his back and grips my ass, squeezing and kneading while he kisses me sweetly and as slowly as he fucks me.
No, that’s not it, he’s… he’s making love to me.
Zander Olsen is making love. To me. A dam of emotion bursts open inside of me with the orgasm that blooms and swells and rips a sob from my throat as I crest and overflow.
I cling to him as he continues to move so gently, so sweetly, with me wrapped around him, the waves of my release continuing to roll through me as tears of relief track down my face as my love for him stokes the fire burning in me, raging hotter, higher, lighting up every dark place and making it golden and bright and lovely.
“You feel so fucking good like this. I’ll never be the same. Fuck, Lowe, I’m ruined, you own me. Your pussy is everything. I want to live inside of you. I want you forever, just like this. Just us. Lowe, you’re mine. All mine, forever, baby.”
He wants me, not the role I’m playing. He wants to keep me, even after the trip.
He wants this to be real. And just like that, I’m irrevocably lost to this man.
I softly cup his face in my hands and kiss his lips that speak such filthy, lovely, sweet, and deliciously dangerous words that set me on fire and make me think of forever with him.
He kisses me back with the same hunger and longing, the same need and desire that is fueling me.
The next time I come, it’s with our foreheads touching, my eyes locked on his, his groan and my whimpers mixing as he is pulled over the edge with me into a soaring release.
It’s the most intense, soul-searing experience that will stick with me long after the shower washes away the evidence that there was no condom easily at hand just this once.