One More Time(45)

And just like every time we kiss, it seems, it becomes apparent that we aren’t going to stop with kisses. I call our driver to come collect us, and we make out like teenagers while we wait. As we hop in the car, I fire off a text to the concierge to fill my room with rose petals and candles. I don’t just play a romantic in the movies.

And the happy surprise on her face when she sees it is enough to make me understand why men do it so often on-screen. Such a simple gesture for such a sweet reward, I think, as she pulls me in for a long, deep, slow kiss.

We’ve kissed a lot lately, and a lot before, but each kiss since I’ve realized I still need her in my life has felt different.

We aren’t kissing the people we thought we knew anymore. We’ve finally shed our characters—not the ones from Reason To Love, but the ones we’ve been playing for the world. Each tentative touch of our tongues sends a shiver down my spine, this private conversation of ours that’s totally unscripted is the best love story ever told.

We explore each other for what feels like ages, just inside the doorway, by the glow of candlelight as the smell of roses mingles with orange blossom in my nose. Barcelona’s couture perfumerie may work for another two hundred years, but nothing can ever capture this scent, with its undercurrents of hope and arousal. Finally, I pull back to gaze at her dilated eyes and kiss-swollen lips, my eyes moving down and up at this out-of-my-league woman I’ve somehow gotten lucky with, not once, but twice over.

And then I realize—she’s worn red.

I think she realizes at the same time, because her sensuous mouth widens into a devilish smile as she steps out of her dress, letting it pool at her feet, and stands before me as proud and nervous as she did the first time we made love.

I’m not wearing a tie tonight, but I take off my vest and toss it onto the couch, a signal that I understand.

This is our first time. For the second time.

I hold out my hand, and she silently accepts. Together, we walk into the bedroom, my perfect girl and me.

“You ruined me for anyone else, you know,” she whispers.

I don’t answer. There’s no need to. I didn’t say that to her all those years ago to brag, and I don’t need to gloat now. It was never about being a sex god—though, I won’t shun the title. It was about us, as much then as it is now, and the connection that only two people in love can possibly have. And maybe since she was my real first love—and I was her first love—makes our connection deeper. I was the first man to have been inside her, the first man to both love her and make love to her—how could we not be forever marked by that?

And even though the sex that first night was movie-perfect, the real standard we set that night was how much we felt for each other. I’d gladly trade in every kinky, sexy fuck we’ve had this shoot to make sure she knows I still feel that much for her tonight.

She steps ahead of me to recline on the bed and removes her bra. This time, there’s no breathless concern that she’ll know what to do and how to please me. She teases me with a smile and toys with her nipple while she waits for me to join her.

My shirt cannot possibly come off fast enough.

“You know if you rip it, you can afford another one,” she says.

So fuck it. I do. I need to be on top of her right this second. On top of her and inside her, and thanks to the destroyed shirt, I almost am. I start low, at the arch of her foot, adoring every inch of her skin with my mouth. My tongue hums along her landscape as I move slowly up her leg. I run along the smooth surface of her thighs and feel her skin prick with goosebumps at my touch.

Jesus, I love how I affect her. How I can make her shiver and moan and writhe. How I can make her use my name like it’s a curse and then like it’s a prayer. It does more for my ego than any award or public recognition could.

As I move to nibble along the inside of Jenna’s thigh, she brings her hands up to run her fingers through my hair. The feel of them on my neck and ears and scalp makes my dick throb, and it’s tempting to rush to bury myself inside her, to relieve the ache.

But I’m not going to hurry this. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.

I make my way to her pussy, sucking and licking along the length of her folds, avoiding the place she wants me most, until she’s soaked and squirming. Then I nudge my tongue under her hood and lave her clit with long, lush strokes.

She comes quickly, her fingers twisting in my hair as she moans out a string of curse words begging me to stop.

But I don’t stop. Instead, I clamp down on her bud, sucking the tender swollen flesh that brings another orgasm crashing through right on top of the last.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous. So sexy. So perfect, twisting under my mouth from pleasure. So entirely mine.

My balls are aching and my cock is heavy like lead when I finally strip the rest of my clothes and climb over her. I want to love all of her, want to cherish her breasts and her flat stomach, but I also can’t wait any longer to be inside her. So I settle for attending to her body with my hands, gently plumping her tits while I center myself between her thighs. As though it’s where they belong, she hooks her legs up around my waist, and I slide into her wet, tight warmth.

We sigh in unison when I’m seated perfectly to the hilt. And then we rock together, our foreheads pressed to each other, both of us murmuring words of love and desire. I move in and out of her unhurriedly, letting the next round of pleasure twine inside of her in slow, languid furls, and when she finally crests again, I speed my thrusts up until I’m climaxing with her, diving off the edge, hurling into a sea of ecstasy.