He lowered himself over her, his cock pressing against her slick cunt. She was so wet that he slid into her easily, gratified by the way her hips rose in silent welcome. He thrust in deep, filling her so completely that his balls rubbed against her, and his cock tightened even more inside her. Again and again, and with each thrust he watched her face, bathed in passion even though she was still lost in sleep.
And then, oh Christ, she murmured his name. Still lost in slumber, but so desperately aroused.
And so very, very his.
eight
I am not Sylvia—I am simply pleasure, surging forward like a wave. Pushing up with such force and perfection I am surprised that I can bear it, and at any moment I expect to explode, rendered to ash by the heat and power of these decadent sensations that flow through me.
It is the thought of such an explosion that brings me back to myself. That settles awareness over me. My limbs. My breasts.
The desperate, heated ache between my legs.
I am motion.
I am wild.
I am lost, scattered to the wind by the glorious sensations bursting through me. The pressure filling me. The rhythmic motion of my body. The heat above me, and the musky scent of him that fills my senses and rocks me to my core.
“Jackson.”
It is his name on my lips that wakes me. Not the fact that he is inside me, because that feels right and glorious and real.
Instinctively, I spread my knees, giving him deeper access even before my conscious brain acknowledges this delicious reality.
“Harder,” I murmur, and as the mist of sleep starts to dissipate, I arch up, wanting more. I am so close. So alive. So sweetly, wonderfully his. “Please,” I beg as he thrusts harder into me. As I reach for him, my hands on his back pulling him against me, wanting everything that he has to give.
I’ve gone from floating to attacking. From peaceful to feral. I want this—oh, dear god, I need this, and hear myself calling to him. His name. My moans. My cries of “Oh, god, yes, fuck me, please, Jackson, please fuck me harder.”
He is above me, his body undulating over mine, his stormy eyes wild with passion. He is filling me up and sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. I am so close—so ready—and I feel more alive and more awake than I have ever been in my life.
“You offered,” he growls. “I took.”
“Yes.” I suck in air as ripples of electricity zing over my body, the precursors to an orgasm that just might kill me. “Jackson—oh, god, Jackson.”
“That’s it, baby. Come for me.”
His hands are on either side of me, but now he lifts one, taking his weight only on the other as he closes his now free palm over my breast. I rise up, my body craving more, and he takes my nipple between two fingers, pinching me to the point of pain.
I gasp—in surprise, yes, but even more from the sweet sting that spreads through me, fiery hot like an electrical storm that seems to connect my breast to my core.
I hear him moan and know that he has felt this new sensation as deeply as I have. “Again,” I beg. “Harder.”
He doesn’t disappoint, and I bite my lower lip as he torments my nipple, making me writhe on the bed in the throes of a sweet pain that sends riots of pleasure through me, making my clit throb and my cunt tighten and convulse around him, silently demanding that he fuck me harder and deeper until finally the entire world seems to explode around us.
I think that I call his name, but I am not sure. I’m not sure of anything, actually, until the world re-forms around us, and I am limp beneath his weight as he collapses on top of me. His cock is still inside me and his face is buried in my hair. His hand remains on my breast, and even now, even sated, I want more.
“Jackson,” I murmur, then move my shoulder so that my still-erect nipple brushes against his hand.
He makes a soft noise against my hair, and though he is otherwise still and spent, his fingers tease my breast, his fingertip stroking the areola, making the skin tighten and pucker.
I am breathing harder, wanting more, and I drag my teeth over my lower lip in dire need of his touch. He doesn’t disappoint, but at the same time the touch is only a tease, a soft stroke of his fingers on my nipple, when I want that heat. That shock. That sting that shoots all the way through me.
“You want more?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“Touch yourself.”
I open my eyes, only then realizing that I’d closed them in the first place. His face is right there, his jaw firm. His eyes hard and full of passion and heat.
“Touch yourself,” he repeats, and because he has told me to, I comply. I slide my hand down my belly and find my clit. I’m wet and slick, and my fingers slide over my sensitive flesh.
