“You want to come.”
“Yes.”
“Greedy girl.” He kisses me. “I like it.”
Then he begins to move in earnest. He pulls out and slams back in, over and over and finally, at long last, what I’ve been searching for, wanting from him overtakes me.
We’re joined.
Moving together.
The bed protesting under us.
Our breaths, harsh and panting, filling the air.
His cock demanding and relentless.
I finally feel claimed. Taken. Possessed by him.
Consumed.
He thrusts inside me, high.
I meet him.
My hips jerking up.
Harder.
Faster.
Deeper.
And just like that, I tip over the edge.
The orgasm screams through me, wracking my body, quaking me to the core in its force. I bite my lip to keep the feral sounds in my throat, but they won’t be contained as pleasure crashes through me.
It’s powerful and life affirming.
I cry out.
He picks up his pace, following me into oblivion, my name tumbling from his lips as he spills into me.
When it’s over, he collapses on top of me before rolling over and taking me with him, so I’m splayed on top of him, somehow still joined.
We’re damp with sweat, the room is humid with sex and spent desire, and I feel more boneless than I’ve ever felt in my life.
My cheek against his chest, his breathing a ragged rush in my ear. I can’t remember the last time I felt so right, so exactly in the place I’m supposed to be, and I don’t want to lose it. Not now. Not ever.
I manage to say, “Wow.”
He laughs, stroking a hand down my spine. “Definitely wow.”
My fingers dance over his stomach, soaking in the fact that I can touch him. “It was worth the wait.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He sounds sleepy.
My lashes drift closed. “I feel like I should say something profound.”