with her still in his arms and carried her through the living room into the bedroom.
He put her on the bed and stopped only long enough to shuck pants and underwear before following her down. She heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. It was dark in the bedroom, and he hadn’t turned on the lights, so she wasn’t able to get a good look at him, but judging from the size of the equipment pressed intimately against her, it wasn’t because he was ashamed. He had nothing to worry about.
She, on the other hand…
The feeling of his hands on her thighs, skimming the dress up to her hips, distracted her from her need to record her own inadequacies. When he hooked his fingers in the lace of her panties and tugged, she arched her hips to help him pull them down.
He pushed her thighs apart then, and although she knew he couldn’t see her in the dark, it was still a little embarrassing to be so exposed. She didn’t know him very well, after all, and there were those extra fifteen pounds…
But then he touched her—his fingers slipping through her wetness, briefly, too briefly, making sure she was ready for him, just for a second or two—and Annie felt her body clench around his hand, as if trying to hold on to him. He murmured something, still in Greek, his voice soothing, even as he pulled his hand away.
“Please…”
“Shhhh. I know.” He positioned himself between her thighs. Annie felt the hard bulk of him at the entrance to her body, and as he pushed forward, she had to focus on keeping her body soft and welcoming; the intrusion was strange and almost a little painful after so long.
It felt like an eternity—two inches forward, one inch back—before he was buried inside her, and even then, a tilt of her hips and a different angle caused him to gasp and slide a crucial inch farther in. And then he was lodged deep inside her, and the whole world narrowed to just him and her and what was happening between them. Each thrust of his hips sang through her, spiraling the tension in her body ever tighter, pushing her higher and higher…until she finally broke and—gasping and clutching him—let him take her over the edge and soar with her through time and space, before drifting gently to rest in utter bliss.
…
Dion was right. There really was nothing like having a woman under him, with her legs wrapped around his waist and her soft body cradling him, to reaffirm that he was alive.
She was still wearing those red shoes, by the way, and if Eros were the type to kiss and tell, he’d make sure Dion knew it. Yes, sweet Annie Landon could indeed be talked into making love with her heels on.
Not that the question of taking them off had come up. She was still wearing her dress, too. And everything else except her panties. Those he’d managed to get rid of. But only because he had to, to get to what he wanted.
Gods, he’d come close to taking her against the wall in the hallway. What was wrong with him? How much ambrosia had he had? He’d just meant to kiss her.
Or he hadn’t really even meant to do that. He’d just intended to walk her home, and to make her feel better after that jackass hurt her feelings. But she’d looked so sweet standing there, tipsy and swaying a bit, with those big eyes unfocused, and those soft lips and soft breasts and red heels. And once he started, it was difficult to stop. Her lips tasted like she smelled, like sugar and vanilla, sweet and warm and delicious, and one taste wasn’t enough. He needed more. And more. Until he was unable to think of anything but hiking up her skirt and taking her right there, against the wall.
And that was when he’d come to his senses, or at least managed to gather what little wits he had left. It had been a long time for her. (Much longer for him, of course, but his perception of time was different.) And she deserved better than that. It was something Dion would do.
Hades, it was what Dion had threatened to do: take her into the snug behind the
He put her on the bed and stopped only long enough to shuck pants and underwear before following her down. She heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. It was dark in the bedroom, and he hadn’t turned on the lights, so she wasn’t able to get a good look at him, but judging from the size of the equipment pressed intimately against her, it wasn’t because he was ashamed. He had nothing to worry about.
She, on the other hand…
The feeling of his hands on her thighs, skimming the dress up to her hips, distracted her from her need to record her own inadequacies. When he hooked his fingers in the lace of her panties and tugged, she arched her hips to help him pull them down.
He pushed her thighs apart then, and although she knew he couldn’t see her in the dark, it was still a little embarrassing to be so exposed. She didn’t know him very well, after all, and there were those extra fifteen pounds…
But then he touched her—his fingers slipping through her wetness, briefly, too briefly, making sure she was ready for him, just for a second or two—and Annie felt her body clench around his hand, as if trying to hold on to him. He murmured something, still in Greek, his voice soothing, even as he pulled his hand away.
“Please…”
“Shhhh. I know.” He positioned himself between her thighs. Annie felt the hard bulk of him at the entrance to her body, and as he pushed forward, she had to focus on keeping her body soft and welcoming; the intrusion was strange and almost a little painful after so long.
It felt like an eternity—two inches forward, one inch back—before he was buried inside her, and even then, a tilt of her hips and a different angle caused him to gasp and slide a crucial inch farther in. And then he was lodged deep inside her, and the whole world narrowed to just him and her and what was happening between them. Each thrust of his hips sang through her, spiraling the tension in her body ever tighter, pushing her higher and higher…until she finally broke and—gasping and clutching him—let him take her over the edge and soar with her through time and space, before drifting gently to rest in utter bliss.
…
Dion was right. There really was nothing like having a woman under him, with her legs wrapped around his waist and her soft body cradling him, to reaffirm that he was alive.
She was still wearing those red shoes, by the way, and if Eros were the type to kiss and tell, he’d make sure Dion knew it. Yes, sweet Annie Landon could indeed be talked into making love with her heels on.
Not that the question of taking them off had come up. She was still wearing her dress, too. And everything else except her panties. Those he’d managed to get rid of. But only because he had to, to get to what he wanted.
Gods, he’d come close to taking her against the wall in the hallway. What was wrong with him? How much ambrosia had he had? He’d just meant to kiss her.
Or he hadn’t really even meant to do that. He’d just intended to walk her home, and to make her feel better after that jackass hurt her feelings. But she’d looked so sweet standing there, tipsy and swaying a bit, with those big eyes unfocused, and those soft lips and soft breasts and red heels. And once he started, it was difficult to stop. Her lips tasted like she smelled, like sugar and vanilla, sweet and warm and delicious, and one taste wasn’t enough. He needed more. And more. Until he was unable to think of anything but hiking up her skirt and taking her right there, against the wall.
And that was when he’d come to his senses, or at least managed to gather what little wits he had left. It had been a long time for her. (Much longer for him, of course, but his perception of time was different.) And she deserved better than that. It was something Dion would do.
Hades, it was what Dion had threatened to do: take her into the snug behind the
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