“Michael,” I whine. “You’re killing me.”
He laughs. “Yeah. Okay.” He pushes back with a playful grin, running his hands down my thighs. Then the grin completely drops off his face. “Shit. I don’t think I have a condom.” He leans over and rifles through the nightstand, then turns back to me, wide-eyed.
“You don’t have one in your wallet?”
He shakes his head. It’s ironic, but the fact that he doesn’t carry them makes me want him even more.
I prop myself up on my elbows, glancing at the window and remembering the snow. We can’t even dash out to the store. Disappointment crushes my ribcage as I look back at Michael, naked and more than ready to have sex with me.
Have we really come this close only to stop?
33
And then something occurs to me.
“Wait!” I say, leaping up and darting into my room for my bag. I rummage through it, searching for the stash I kept in there for Travis and I. He hated to carry them. I know it was a while ago now, but… please tell me I didn’t throw them out. I dump the contents of my bag onto the bed and paw through it frantically.
And then I remember: the zip compartment in the back! I rip it open and inside is a whole strip of them.
Yes! I send up a silent prayer of thanks as I race back into Michael’s room and hold them up triumphantly.
Shit. This makes me look a bit slutty, proudly brandishing twelve condoms in the air. As if I’m always walking around with this many in my pocket, ready to drop my pants for anyone, anytime.
“I’ve had these for ages,” I mumble, my neck hot. “I don’t always… well, you know, my ex and I—”
“It’s okay.” Michael’s lip twitches. “You don’t have to explain. It’s your business.”
“I know, but I want you to know. I don’t just jump into bed—I mean, I haven’t—”
“Alex, I know.” His mouth softens into a smile as he reaches for me from the bed.
I climb on beside him, handing the condoms over. I know I should look away, but I can’t. My eyes are glued to the deft movement of his fingertips rolling the condom down his length, desire throbbing hot and heavy between my legs. How did I end up here, about to have sex with this man?
He looks up to catch me watching and a slow, wide grin stretches across his face. Then he nudges me back onto the mattress, his eyes intense as he lowers his weight back onto me, settles himself between my thighs. The heat of him—the smell of him—rushes over me, and I sigh. I love the pressure of him against me, heavy and reassuring, his mouth so close we are breathing the same air.
He lies there for a moment, gazing at me, and raises a hand to brush my hair out of my eyes. My heart is drumming as I look up at him, drunk with desire.
Carefully, he pushes inside me. I gasp at the thickness of him, waiting for my body to adjust, to soften and allow all of him in. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t start jackhammering away; he waits too, and it’s his patience that allows me to relax. When he can tell I’m comfortable, he gives a gentle roll of his hips, and pleasure radiates through me, into every corner of my body.
“Uhhhh,” is all I manage, digging my fingernails into his shoulders and trying not to fall apart. We haven’t even started and I’m almost finished. I get the sense that if he’s not careful, he could destroy me. But that’s exactly what I want.
He grins at my incoherent response and crushes his lips to mine, moving inside me. “Fuck,” he murmurs, kissing along my jaw, his beard scratching against the sensitive skin on my neck. “You feel amazing. I knew you would.”
I want to say something back, something to communicate the sensation of bliss sweeping through me, but I can’t find the words. All I can do is thread my hands up into his hair and bring his mouth back to mine, kissing him with such intensity that he’ll know how I feel without me saying a thing.
He sinks into the kiss as we move together, our bodies learning the feel of each other, the shape of each other. Even in bed he’s a gentleman; focused on me, making sure I feel good, watching to see how I respond and adjusting accordingly. So attentive, so thoughtful.
But I can tell he’s holding back, and all I want is for him to let his body take over. I’ve waited months, hungry for this man and his touch, and I don’t want him to be careful and measured with me. I want all of him, including the urges he’s trying to suppress. I want it reckless, I want it raw.
“Michael,” I breathe. “You don’t have to be so gentle.”
“I’m just—” he rasps against the skin of my neck, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to rush.” His lips press, then suck, and I clench with how badly I want him to let loose on me.
“Please,” I beg. “I want—I need you to give me everything. I want you to wreck me.” Christ, I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I’ve never asked for what I want in bed like this, but with him… I can’t not.
His movements still, and he draws away enough to meet my gaze. I feel a pinprick of uncertainty, but his eyes darken to black and he gives a grunt of approval. He pushes back, sliding his left hand down behind my knee and lifting my leg up onto his shoulder. Using his other hand to brace himself, he changes the angle and gives another thrust, watching for my response. I nod and his hips roll forward again, and again. He’s deeper now, but his movements are still constrained and I can’t stand it.
I need to
