He had it – had me – completely under control, every adjustment, every touch, every shift making me wetter, making me shiver, dragging what felt like every one of my nerves to the surface to be stimulated and treated to the same pleasurable rush.
Rush.
A perfect word to describe the feeling that swept over me gradually, and then all at once, making me lose the ability – and will – to breathe.
To see.
To think.
There was nothing but feeling, nothing but heaven, nothing but the flood of wetness and moans of pleasure and that slight, blissful moment of pain as he slammed into me one last time and stayed there, his hips pumping as he came.
“Wow,” I whispered, when I could finally get my mouth and my brain back in sync.
Tristan chuckled as he pulled out of me, creating an absence I felt immediately. “I… feel exactly the same fucking way,” he said, picking up his shorts, but handing me my dress back before he put them on.
Which… for some reason… kinda made my little bubble of post-orgasm bliss fade.
I pulled the dress on, and got myself down from the counter while Tristan put his clothes back on. Finally, watching him grab his shoes, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“You didn’t… suddenly stop liking me now that we’ve done that, right?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light like I was joking.
I wasn’t.
Tristan straightened up, tucking the shoes under his arm without actually putting them on. “Huh?”
“You seem in a hurry,” I explained, plastering on a smile. “And I was remembering your reasoning from a few weeks ago about why we shouldn’t do this…”
His confused expression softened. “Temp… I honestly assumed we were taking this show upstairs. I mean… unless I’m not invited?”
“No, you’re definitely invited, if you want. I just… this is dumb. Never mind,” I said, shaking my head as embarrassed heat rushed to my face. Reminding me that, for as much sexual experience as I had… intimacy was foreign to me.
And I was making a damn fool of myself because of it.
“I… feel like I fucked this up somewhere,” Tristan said, stepping toward me, and reaching out to grab me under the chin. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I assured. “It’s… really not you. It’s me. I’m making this weird.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“I… it already is,” I said, blinking back sudden, frustrated tears. “And I don’t know how to—”
Fix it.
That would’ve been the rest of that statement if Tristan hadn’t kissed me, effectively shutting me up.
“Let’s order some dinner,” he said, when he pulled back, not giving me a chance to go back to obsessing. “We can get cleaned up, watch some TV, eat. I don’t know about you, but lunch feels like a long ass time ago,” he added, making me laugh.
And… shit.
Somehow, just like that… I wasn’t feeling quite so awkward anymore.
“Um… what do you want to eat?” I asked, a question he responded to with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. “For dinner,” I clarified, laughing again as he followed me up the stairs.
“Whatever your fine ass wants,” he answered, from too close behind me, and then suddenly his arm was around me, making it awkward as hell to get up the stairs.
But it was fine.
Hell… it was more than fine.
Which was a new experience in itself.
This man is a work of art.
I mean… I already knew he was fine, but the more I explored his body, intent on exhausting him to the point he couldn’t even think about cumming again without losing his breath, it was just… clear.
Congratulations to me indeed.
My fingers skimmed the smooth, graffitied expanse of his skin – wide shoulders and thick biceps, solid midsection and strong thighs, all covered to varying degrees with beautifully inked illustrations.
The star of the show though was his dick.
On my knees in front of him, I took a moment to admire the weight of it in my hands before I tried my damndest to swallow it all.
It was a good, good feeling, his thighs tensed, his hands in my hair, cursing and barely containing himself from burying his dick in my throat.
And then, not containing himself at all.
His fingers grazed against my scalp, blazing little trails of further stimulation as he held my head in place, pumping into my mouth. I put one hand between my legs, the other between his, teasing my clit and his balls in the same uncontrolled pace – no rhythm, no thinking, just pure… pleasure.
Tristan tilted my chin up, adjusting me so he could plunge deeper into my throat, making me gag around him. Just teasing wasn’t enough, so I pushed two fingers into my pussy, taking on his same frantic pace as he drove himself between my lips.
For every stroke, I sucked him hard – he cursed or groaned every time. I channeled my breathing through my nose, so a pesky lack of air couldn’t get in the way of me trying my damndest to take him completely.
I was so close when he snatched me up from the floor.
“Bring your ass here,” he growled, his hand around my neck as he dragged my mouth to his, pressing his tongue between my lips to lap into me. He didn’t let up as he backed me toward the bed, not until the mattress hit the back of my legs. Then, he tossed me down, climbing over me to sink between my thighs in a deep stroke that pulled contented moan from both of us.
This was how it was supposed to be.
Not going through the motions, not waiting for it to be over, not being on guard in case you suddenly had to defend your life.
Just… pleasure. And connection. And relief.
And probably protection, but we’d ran out of that and promptly decided not to let it stop the show.
I wanted all of him, everything, with nothing between us.
Luckily, he was willing to give it.
“Shit,” he cursed, panting, his large body spread across my bed
