Beautiful Beginning(57)

I shake my head no, unable to find words, and he groans in frustration and

pleasure as he slowly pushes inside. I lose my breath, lose my ability to

breathe or even care that I need to, and pull my legs up high, wanting him

deeper, wanting to feel him entering me forever. He’s heavy, thick, so

hard that when his hips meet my thighs I hover at the edge of discomfort.

He’s the one making me lose my breath, making me feel like there’s not

enough room in my body for him and air at the same time, but nothing has

ever felt so good.

I'd tell him I changed my mind, I'll come with him, if I could find words,

but with his arms braced beside my head he starts to move and it's unlike

anything else. It's unlike everything else. The slow, solid drag of him

inside me builds an ache so good it’s enough to make me feel a little

unhinged at the thought that the feeling will end at some point.

He’s giving me a gentle warm-up, his eyes on mine as he pulls out slowly

and then even more slowly pushes back in, occasionally ducking down to

slide his mouth over mine. But when I drag my tongue over his teeth, and he

jerks forward, sharp and unexpected, I hear my own tight gasp, and it

unleashes something in him. He starts to move, hard and smooth over me,

perfect curling thrusts of his hips.

I don't really know how many times we had sex last night, but he must have

figured out what I need, and he seems to love to watch giving it to me. He

pushes up on his hands, kneeling between my spread legs, and already I know

that when I come it will be unlike anything I've felt before. I can hear

his grunting breaths and my own sharp exhales. I can hear the slap of the

front of his thighs against the inside of mine and the slick, smooth

strokes of him moving in and out of me.

I won’t need his fingers or mine or a toy. We fit. His skin slides across

my clit again and again and again.

Lola was right last night when she teased about how it would be with Ansel

and me: it ismissionary, and there's eye contact, but it isn't precious or

soft-focus the way she meant. I can’t imagine not looking at him. It would

be like trying to have sex without touching.

The pleasure climbs up my legs like a vine, building into a flush I can

feel spreading across my cheeks, across my chest. I’m terrified I’ll lose

this sensation, that I’m chasing something that doesn’t really exist, but

he’s moving faster, and harder, so hard he has to hold my hips with his

hands so he doesn’t push me off the bed. His eyes rake over my gasping

lips and my breasts that bounce with his thrusts. The way he f*cks me makes

my slight body feel voluptuous for the first time in my life.

I open my mouth to tell him I’m falling and nothing comes out but a cry

for more and yes and this and yes and yes. Sweat drops from his forehead

onto my breast and rolls onto my neck. He’s working so hard, holding so

much back, waiting waiting waiting for me. I love the restraint and hunger

and determination in his beautiful face and I’m at the edge, right there.

Warmth rushes throughout my body a split second before I fall.

He sees it happen. He watches, mouth parting in relief, eyes blazing in

victory. My orgasm crashes over me so hard, so consuming, I’m not myself

anymore. I’m the savage pulling him down onto me, rutting up into him and

gripping his ass to pull him in deeper. I’m pure desperation beneath him,

begging, biting his shoulder, spreading my legs as wide as they’ll go.

The wildness unhinges him. I can hear the sheets pop away from the mattress

and feel them bunch behind me as he grips them for leverage, moving hard

enough that the headboard cracks into the wall.

“Oh,” he groans, rhythm growing punishing. He buries his face in my neck,

groaning, “Here. Here. Here.”

And then he opens his mouth on my neck, sucking and pressing, shoulders

shaking over me as he comes. I slide my hands over his back, relishing the

bunching definition of his tense posture, the curve to his spine as he

stays as deep as he can. I shift beneath him to feel his skin on mine,

mixing my sweat with his.

Ansel pushes up to his elbows and hovers over me, still pulsing inside as

he presses his palms to my forehead and slides them over my hair.

“It’s too good,” he says against my lips. “It’s so good, cerise.”

And then he reaches between us to grip the condom, pulling out and slipping

it off. He drops it blindly in the vicinity of the bedside table and

collapses beside me on the mattress, dragging his left hand down his face,

across his sweaty chest where it comes to rest over his heart. I’m unable

to look away from the gold band on his ring finger. His stomach tightens

with each jagged inhale, jerks with each forceful exhale.

"Please, Mia."

I have one last refusal in me, and I squeak it out: "I can't."

He closes his eyes and my heart splinters, imagining not seeing him again.