leaned back a little, her hands on his thighs, and did just that. He wrapped his arms around her legs and just held on. Jesus, the muscles in her legs rippled beautifully as she drove her hips down onto him, riding him every bit as hard as he’d ridden her. Her head was thrown back, and her ponytail brushed his legs. Somehow he thought that, that silky tickle across his knees, was the thing that was going to undo him. He’d promised to make her scream again.
He sat up and grabbed her arms, folding her whole body tightly to his chest. Staring deeply into his eyes, she stopped, panting, her breath leaving her body in sexy little moans. For several beats, they simply sat there tangled together in a complex knot, sweaty and breathless, staring into each other’s eyes.
In that look Isaac felt something shift into place between them; he felt it like a thrill up his spine. He had no idea what it meant. But he grabbed her ponytail and brought her mouth to his, sucking the sweat from her upper lip and then kissing her deeply. But softly. She went with it, kissing him back in kind, her hands moving into his wet hair and holding him close. Suddenly, she pulled back with a little gasp and stared at him, her brow furrowing. She’d felt it, too, he knew.
Something dangerous.
She yanked on his hair. “I thought you were gonna make me scream again. That was the deal, right?” She kissed him again, biting his lower lip hard at the end. He tasted blood.
“Fuck! Bloodthirsty bitch.” He rolled abruptly, putting her on her back. Then he grabbed her ankles from behind him and held them out wide as he pounded into her, gaining more and more speed with every thrust. If this wasn’t enough for her, then she was just too fucking much for him.
“Oh, fuck! Yeah! Yeah! Fuck! Harder!” Harder? Jesus Christ. He found something more to give her. And then, thank the blessed baby Jesus, she was screaming, her nails embedded in his forearms. She was tight, so tight, around his cock, and he finally, finally, finally let himself go with a long, loud, extremely relieved groan that came through his chest, his throat, his clenched teeth like it was being yanked out of his very cells. He came for fucking ever.
When it was done, he dropped in a heap on top of her, between her legs. He was still inside her. He was gratified to hear the strain in her breathing, so like his own. At least he’d worn her out, too.
She laughed. “Okay, fuck. That was fantastic. I won’t doubt you again.”
“See that you don’t.” He kissed her cheek. With a weary sigh—he was wondering about the logic of this kind of exertion, since he hadn’t slept last night and wouldn’t have the chance again until late tonight—he pulled out of her and sort of dropped off her to lie at her side. Normally, he’d be up and getting dressed right now. When he fucked, he did it at the clubhouse or at the chick’s house, and he did not cuddle. Cuddling is where complications happened. But he didn’t think he could move.
Plus, he wasn’t done touching her yet.
She rolled to her side and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “9:30. Does Marie’s stop serving breakfast at some point? Because you owe me eggs and waffles.” She put the phone down and started to roll onto her back again, but Isaac stopped her. Instead, he scooted closer as she lay on her side.
She had a line of text inked up her left side, from her hip to about even with her tits. It wasn’t English. That and a very pretty, intricate black and grey butterfly, about the size of his fist, on her left shoulder blade were her only tattoos.
He traced the line of text up her side. “Marie’s serves breakfast all day. What does this say?”
She looked back over her shoulder at him and didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “It’s Italian: L’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stelle .” The words in her voice were beautiful; she spoke as if she were fluent in the language.
“That’s beautiful.
He sat up and grabbed her arms, folding her whole body tightly to his chest. Staring deeply into his eyes, she stopped, panting, her breath leaving her body in sexy little moans. For several beats, they simply sat there tangled together in a complex knot, sweaty and breathless, staring into each other’s eyes.
In that look Isaac felt something shift into place between them; he felt it like a thrill up his spine. He had no idea what it meant. But he grabbed her ponytail and brought her mouth to his, sucking the sweat from her upper lip and then kissing her deeply. But softly. She went with it, kissing him back in kind, her hands moving into his wet hair and holding him close. Suddenly, she pulled back with a little gasp and stared at him, her brow furrowing. She’d felt it, too, he knew.
Something dangerous.
She yanked on his hair. “I thought you were gonna make me scream again. That was the deal, right?” She kissed him again, biting his lower lip hard at the end. He tasted blood.
“Fuck! Bloodthirsty bitch.” He rolled abruptly, putting her on her back. Then he grabbed her ankles from behind him and held them out wide as he pounded into her, gaining more and more speed with every thrust. If this wasn’t enough for her, then she was just too fucking much for him.
“Oh, fuck! Yeah! Yeah! Fuck! Harder!” Harder? Jesus Christ. He found something more to give her. And then, thank the blessed baby Jesus, she was screaming, her nails embedded in his forearms. She was tight, so tight, around his cock, and he finally, finally, finally let himself go with a long, loud, extremely relieved groan that came through his chest, his throat, his clenched teeth like it was being yanked out of his very cells. He came for fucking ever.
When it was done, he dropped in a heap on top of her, between her legs. He was still inside her. He was gratified to hear the strain in her breathing, so like his own. At least he’d worn her out, too.
She laughed. “Okay, fuck. That was fantastic. I won’t doubt you again.”
“See that you don’t.” He kissed her cheek. With a weary sigh—he was wondering about the logic of this kind of exertion, since he hadn’t slept last night and wouldn’t have the chance again until late tonight—he pulled out of her and sort of dropped off her to lie at her side. Normally, he’d be up and getting dressed right now. When he fucked, he did it at the clubhouse or at the chick’s house, and he did not cuddle. Cuddling is where complications happened. But he didn’t think he could move.
Plus, he wasn’t done touching her yet.
She rolled to her side and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “9:30. Does Marie’s stop serving breakfast at some point? Because you owe me eggs and waffles.” She put the phone down and started to roll onto her back again, but Isaac stopped her. Instead, he scooted closer as she lay on her side.
She had a line of text inked up her left side, from her hip to about even with her tits. It wasn’t English. That and a very pretty, intricate black and grey butterfly, about the size of his fist, on her left shoulder blade were her only tattoos.
He traced the line of text up her side. “Marie’s serves breakfast all day. What does this say?”
She looked back over her shoulder at him and didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “It’s Italian: L’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stelle .” The words in her voice were beautiful; she spoke as if she were fluent in the language.
“That’s beautiful.
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