Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
His body moved over mine, his lips claiming mine once again, pressing harder, deeper, bruising in.
My hands clawed down his back, yanking mindlessly at his pants, too lost in the need to have more, to have him, to feel him inside me that I couldn't seem to remember that the button and zip needed to be undone.
Vance, luckily, managed to remember himself, pushing up enough to undo them with one hand. Mine took over from there, yanking his pants and boxer briefs down over his hips, ass, down his thighs.
There was a short shuffle for protection before his body pressed into mine fully again, his cock dangerously close to where I needed him most.
"Now," I heard myself beg, hands sinking into his ass, trying to shift him, trying to put an end to the clawing need building inside me.
"Baby," he called. "Babe... Ferryn," he tried finally, managing to break through the growing desperation. "Ace, look at me," he demanded softly, refusing to budge until I forced my desire-heavy eyes open, finding his gaze on me. "There you are," he said, lips curving up ever so slightly as his hips shifted, as his cock pushed, then pressed inside on one slow, deep thrust.
I nearly shattered right then and there.
As a rule, I was not an eye contact person during sex. It was too close, too personal.
But I wanted nothing but close and personal with Vance.
My eyes stayed on his while he moved inside me.
Another first.
Slow.
Sweet.
Almost—dare I even think it—loving.
"Shh, babe, shh," he demanded as my whimpers turned to moans, as my moans became pleas. "Shh," he tried again as my orgasm started to crest. His hand pressed down over my mouth just in time, muffling out my cries as he pressed deep, as he came with me.
Bodies spent, he collapsed over me, our heartbeats hammering in unison.
Even if I wanted to, my body wouldn't have been capable of moving. My bones were gelatinous. My muscles may well have not existed.
But what was more important, I think, was the fact that there was no desire to.
To get up, to get dressed, to get gone.
That was how it used to be.
My heartbeat couldn't even slow before I needed to flee.
Everything within me, though, wanted to stay. Stay as long as I possibly could. Until this warm feeling became a part of me again, settled down, took root.
"Let me up," Vance demanded softly, making me realize I had wrapped him up with all limbs, had my face planted in his neck.
Realizing just how needy that was, just how new this was, I released him as though he burned me. I should have known he would notice the change, would call me on it.
"Don't do that," he demanded. "Just give me a minute."
"Take as long as you need. I, ah, I need to get back to my room. We shouldn't have done this here," I added.
"Yeah, probably not," he agreed. "And you are going to have to go back to your room. But not just yet. We still got that talk," he reminded me, giving me a pointed look before disappearing into the bathroom.
Alone, I pressed a hand to my heart, wondering if its frantic pace was still from the sex—the amazing, world-tilting sex—or the prospect of the upcoming conversation.
Both, maybe.
"Was I fast enough that you haven't started overthinking yet?" he asked, emerging barely a minute later, still perfectly naked and breathlessly unfazed by it.
"I can't really think much at all right now," I admitted, finding my brain slow. "And I'm not prone to overthinking."
"Yeah, okay," he said, rolling his eyes as he reached for an old beer on his nightstand, taking a swig, holding it out to me. "Once overheard you and Iggs debate what it meant when that girl in class called your outfit for the school dance 'daring' for eight days."
I felt my lips curve up at that.
We'd spent so much time worrying about the thoughts and opinions of people who didn't matter, who never mattered, whose names I couldn't even remember after all these years.
What a waste.
"Alright, well, I am not an over-thinker anymore," I corrected, moving over to make room for him to drop down. Which he did. Then threw an arm around me, curling me onto his chest. A part of me said I should pull away, get some clothes on, go back to my room. The other part—arguably a larger part—wanted to stay, never wanting to know what it might be like not to feel his arms around me, his fingers gliding down my arm.
"Good. Then you won't be a pain in the ass about this."
"About what?" I asked. "What is 'this?'"
"It's... something."
"'Something' isn't really a good explanation."
"No," he agreed, nodding, finger tracing over a particularly ugly scar just above my hip. I'd taken a pocketknife there, and yanked away, causing a jagged cut that hadn't healed clean, leaving a feather-like scar in its wake. "But it is more than saying it's nothing. We both know it's not nothing. It's never been nothing."