Page 34 of One More Night
I guess he is. I’m here, aren’t I?
“What happens next then? Hypothetically, of course.”
Strong hands wrap around my waist, hoisting me high so that Jordan can step between my legs. I wrap them around his middle on instinct, his hard body holding me to the wall.
“The bits in between are hazy,” he cedes. “But the end was always the same.”
I cock an eyebrow in invitation.
“You, riding my cock, just like this. My mouth on your tits, one hand to your lips to keep you quiet while you came. Perfection.”
“Show it to me.”
He grins while he lines himself with my entrance, my hands shaking against his back with anticipation of the thrust. Yet, he chooses to tease me instead, circling my center with the tip of his thick erection until I literally beg him to end the suffering.
“Fuck me, Jordan. I need this. I need you right now.”
He shunts his hips at the same time as letting me drop down the wall, nothing but his body holding me from falling to the floor. I cry out with his fullness, with the burn of such a brutal entry, most of all with the relief of it all.
“You need me every day, baby. Admit it.”
I can’t. All I can think of is this moment, right here. I don’t want to muddy this connection with the troubles of the world. Not yet.
“Three months,” I utter as he sucks on my throat, one hand to my hip, the other palming my breast.
“Three months.” He tilts his head and claims me with a kiss, the intrusion of his tongue welcome. I need him inside of me in every way.
Why not when he’s already found a home in my heart?
The timber of the shed wall scratches at my skin, the pain a welcome contrast to the flutter that builds in my core. Our union is raw, filled with personal gain rather than care for the other, and yet I don’t think we could have it any other way.
We’re two people sure of what we want from this, and it’s no traditional romance.
It’s ours, and that alone is something infinitely more special than a thousand candlelit dinners or roses on our anniversary.
One look in his dark eyes as he brings me to the edge of orgasm and I know without a doubt I can get the single most important thing from him: respect. He’s not the kind to mold or bend me to his purpose, rather the kind to let me do my own thing as long as it was by his side. What could be more perfect? Companionship, love in whatever shape it came, and also independence.
“Three months,” I pant as the familiar buzz builds deep in my core.
“Three months,” he repeats, low and throaty as he jerks hard into me. “And you’ll wonder why you waited so long to find me again.”