Page 30 of Never Enough
Daphne meets every thrust, hips rising off the bed, a perfect counterpoint to my own rhythm. Our bodies slap together, the sound obscene in its urgency. Sweat slicks our skin, making us shine in the dim light.
“Alex. Yes, baby,” she gasps. I love when she says my name. It reminds me that she’s as obsessed with this moment as I am.
I thrust into her with all my strength, every instinct urging me forward. “Say it,” I growl, my voice dripping with desire. “Say my name as I fuck you.”
“Alex!”
There is no gentle lovemaking here, only the frantic coupling of two bodies consumed by insatiable lust. Her walls compel me to push harder, deeper. Unbearable tension in my gut builds.
“Damn it,” I choke out between ragged breaths. Pleasure takes over and blinds me, leaving me lost in her touch.
It’s always been her. Only her.
And then it hits us. My balls practically tingle, and I know I’m seconds away from shooting my load. But I’m not ready yet, so I slip my arms around her back and hold her against my chest as I pause for a second. We cling to each other as if we are the only people left in a world of chaos.
Until, with an animalistic need, I flip her onto her hands and knees and enter her from behind. The room echoes with the sounds of flesh slapping, and Daphne’s moans grow louder and more desperate. I grip her hips with bruising force, unable to control myself any longer as I give her everything I have.
“Take it,” I grunt just as I com deep inside her tight pussy. She’s right there with me, matching my movements with fervor until we both reach the edge together. It’s a breathtaking, perfect occasion that leaves us entangled and gasping for air.
As I slide off of her trembling body, I trace my fingers along the curves of Daphne’s shoulders. Her dark hair sprawls across the pillow like a halo framing her goddess form. And in this moment, I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I don’t deserve her.
That is, until she turns to me, eyes shining with love and desire, and I realize that I am exactly where I’m meant to be—wrapped in the arms of this incredible woman who brings out the sun.
Chapter eleven
Alex
Ever since Daphne’s birthday dinner, we’re having sex every chance we get. Which, in my humble opinion, still isn’t nearly enough. Most notably because Celeste and I are still fake dating. Therefore, Daphne and I are holed up in her suite while her roommates are in classes.
I watch Daphne scribble in her notebook, her brows knitted in concentration. The silence of the room is comfortable, just the sound of pen on paper and the occasional turn of a page. She looks up, hazel eyes meeting mine, an apology forming on her lips.
“Sorry this is taking so long,” she says.
“No worries,” I reply, leaning back on her bed. The walls here are bare, unlike my place crammed with posters and random stuff my roommates put up. Her room smells like calming lavender.
I can’t have her over at my suite. Not today. The guys are home, and there’s no telling what they might say or do. Here, it’s just us.
Safe.
Am I a coward? Yes, but I’m too afraid to lose her.
Anxiety gnaws at me, a familiar beast that’s always lurking. The thought of losing Daphne tightens my chest.
Need to keep it together.
But it’s tough when I’m isolated with my own thoughts. They’re my deadliest weapon.
Naturally, I think how high school feels like a whole other world from the one I’m experiencing now. When Celeste came into my world, I suddenly became somebody. People who never looked my way started showing up just because I was with the hot girl. It was crazy. With her, the stuttering faded a bit and the nerves calmed down. I worked hard on that, on not tripping over every word. What terrifies me is reverting back to my old self and showing Daph that I’m still a dweeb. What if she runs? She likes who I am now, so I will myself as I’m expected.
“Done,” Daphne announces, closing her books with a finality that pulls me back to the present.
“Great.” I manage a smile, but inside, everything’s still churning.
She stacks her textbooks with a soft thud, one on top of the other. I watch her hands, how they linger for a moment on the book covers, before she turns in her chair. Her fingers brush past a pile of envelopes, hesitating over a specific one.
“Hey,” I say, nodding towards the letters. “What are those?”
She glances at me, then back at the stack. Then she picks up the envelope on top—cream-colored, addressed to her in neat script. Lynn. The name means nothing to me, but the way she holds it says more than she probably intends. Is it from family?