Still Not Over You(75)

Reb looks ethereal, more like an angel than a living woman, as I lay her down on the bed tucked into one corner. She’s all pale moonlight and sea-green eyes and chestnut hair and tiny flowers scattered all throughout those spreading locks, looking up at me like some wild sea-nymph I managed to coax up to shore.

That filmy, soft white sundress is beautiful on her. So fucking beautiful.

I’ll always remember her like this: natural and perfect and mine, watching me with her eyes dark and dilated, pink tongue caught between her lips, as breathless and soft as if it's our first time.

In a way, it is. A new beginning. A promise we made months ago fulfilled.

The first time I’ll touch her as my wife, claim her body as her husband. Kiss her as my one and only truth.

Take her, and then take her again. Binding her to me in flesh as well as in word.

This feels like an act of worship. The heat that burns in me is as slow and deep and scorching as magma, and I can’t even find words for the emotions racing through me as I strip out of my shirt, then sink down to cover her body with my own.

The way she fits against me is just right – as if we were made for each other, crafted from the same primal clay. Meant to meld.

She arches to me with a sigh as I skim her body with slow touches, letting her shape guide me, memorizing her with my palms. I lose myself in the rhythm of her sighs, the music of her soft, low sounds.

Face, hair, skin, tits, and cunt. They make me more frantic the more I have.

I devour every arch of her body, every flutter of her pulse against her throat, every part of her lips and flush in her cheeks. She responds to me with such delicacy, such perfection, such perfect rhythm.

We're no longer two separate beings, but one.

Kenna is, and always will be, my heart made flesh.

She lifts her arms over her head as I strip the sundress away – then gasps as I tangle the dress around her upraised wrists, keeping them trapped, pinning them there.

Her pale, smooth skin is a feast for my lips. Her taste so lush with that faint hint of sea salt clinging to her as I kiss her shoulders, then the upper curves of her tits, then her soft, sleek belly, and then her inner thighs.

Her moans slip out and I submerge her into a delicious torture.

Nibbling along the curves of her bra, the line of her panties, teasing her just to hear her whimper, just to watch her writhe in anticipation.

When I tug her lace cups down over the tempting, plush mounds of her tits, those strawberry-pink nipples are already hard and begging for my mouth. And when I wrap my lips around one, tracing it with my tongue, the way she jerks beneath me and the soft cry that rises makes my cock throb with a raw, potent, animal need.

I want to taste every fucking inch of her. Touch it. Bite it. Own it.

From the soft underside of her knee to the crease inside her thigh, from the soft sweat-misted valley between her tits to the hot, soaked folds between her thighs.

She’s already wet, so wet for me, and there’s something deliciously dirty about leaving her drenched panties on and only tugging them aside to bare her to my tongue.

Fuck. Yes. There.

“There, baby, there,” I growl between licks, sending a quiver through her body.

I can’t get enough of her taste. She’s tart and sweet and creamy all at once.

I lick every last slick drop from her skin – circling her clit, delving inside, finding every place that makes her shrill whine hit the peak that just fucking ruins me before it breaks and she nearly sobs out her pleasure, digging her fingers into my hair.

“Landon!”

I want her like this.

Always like this: open for me, wet for me, begging for me.

I'm not exaggerating when I say I could spend hours buried between her thighs, kneading my fingers into sweet yielding flesh, fucking my tongue into the sweetness of her cunt till her back arches and she spasms hard.

But Reb clenches her knees against my waist, pulls me up, and kisses me too soon, distracting my mouth.

This sweet wanton woman who’s as delicate as a virgin and as willing and wanting as the most experienced lover. How could I ever resist the electric tease, the need building in my balls?

I give her the taste of her on my lips while she tells me what she wants without words, moving her body against mine until her slickness glides against my cock and I throb from root to tip with the violent caveman urge to be inside her.

So ready to fuck. So ready to take. So ready to pump everything inside me in her.

A few more teasing strokes. A few more moments of delving, deep, soul-melting kisses, and then our bodies glide together.

The moment comes when we fit perfectly, my cock poised just short of finding home, her wet, heated folds wrapping around my cock head. Gasping, I part our lips, resting my brow to hers. “Kenna.”

“I know,” she whispers, so many wordless things between us. “I know.”

She coaxes me into her pussy, drawing me deep with the clench of her thighs.

Groaning, I bury myself in her body, slowly, drawing it out till we’re mated in tandem with strained cries and tortured breaths and the trembling flex of our muscles.

Moment after moment, I hold and savor her sweetness. I engulf my dick in her silk, resisting the urge to slam her into the mattress with powerful, beastly jabs of my hips. I hold out just a few seconds longer, before taking her deeper, deeper, even as her fire torches down my senses, my control.