“Yeah,” he growled, sitting back, sliding almost out, and using all his weight to come back into her. Maya moaned, arching her back. He grabbed her hips and lifted her to her knees in one swift motion, moving in and out of her pussy in long, hard strokes. “Is that what you wanted?”
“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes and feeling him filling her, again, again, again, the wet sound of them together coming faster now. “Oh, yes, yes yes!”
She opened herself up to him, let herself go completely, just letting him take her, his cock impaling her flesh over and over, driving her across the bed with every thrust. Maya wanted more of him, and she wiggled forward, grabbing his thrusting cock in her hand as it slid out of her slippery wetness.
She rolled beneath him, turning over and putting his cock back inside of her. He was propped over her now, thrusting again, his eyes closed. And still, she wanted more. She groped at him, pulling him down to her, wanting to feel the weight of him. She pressed her breasts against his chest, rolling her hips in circles as she wrapped herself around him, wanting him as deeply as he could go now.
His breath on her cheek was hot and labored, their bodies slippery together as they rocked, the delicious friction building between them. Maya began squeezing him again, pulling him deeper, and she heard him groan.
“Ahhh, I'm so close,” he warned against her ear, and she gripped him harder, using his shaft to tease her aching clit, working hard now. She couldn't stop. “Oh god! Maya!”
“Yes,” she whispered, licking at his ear, his throat, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. “Cum for me.”
He grunted at her words, driving forward hard and she could feel his body shuddering against her, every muscle tight and pulsing. Maya pressed up against him, belly to belly, feeling his quivering as she pushed herself over, grinding her clit against the base of his throbbing shaft.
“Ohhhhh!” she moaned, digging her nails into his back, wrapping her legs around him tight as she pitched and rolled underneath him, the sensation like a blinding white heat searing through her, again and again.
He rolled off of her, breathing hard, closing his eyes. Maya stared up at the ceiling, her eyes wandering down the wall, marveling at how the logs fit one another, tongue and groove, as she found his hand and squeezed. Outside, she could hear the ducks calling, and she smiled.
“Are you sorry?” James asked her.
She glanced over at him. His breath was returning to normal, but his eyes were still closed. “No,” she said, smiling back up at the ceiling. “Should I be?”
“Most of the time, the fantasy is always better than the reality,” he murmured, turning to look at her.
“Not this time,” she replied, putting her arm over him, fitting her cheek against his chest.
“Maybe there is a little romance left in the world,” he murmured, kissing her hair.
“It's always there,” she whispered, snuggling closer. “You just have to look.”
Epilogue
“And the winner of the William Faulkner Award for Best Novel of the Year goes to Maya Reardon, author of ‘Swan Song.'”
James leaned over and kissed her cheek, and she stood, using his shoulder to stay steady. She wanted to pinch herself, to make sure she wasn't dreaming, to convince her that this really was her life.
She moved toward the stage, smiling at the white-haired man who handed her the certificate, turning her eyes back out to the applauding crowd. She saw him standing there, his eyes bright-the man who knew everything about her there was to know, and who loved her still.
“This is for my husband, James,” Maya said into the microphone. “Without him, I never would have known that fairy tales sometimes really do come true.”
