Broken Juliet(14)

He groans and kisses me again, and again, becoming more passionate with each passing second. I can barely keep up.

He’s never kissed me like this before. Never. It’s like he’s speaking directly to my body. Asking permission, and apologizing, and wishing for things that can never be. He pushes me back against the wall, and even though the kiss is full of the same hungry lust that’s always lived between our mouths, it’s also something else.

It whispers under my skin and heats the air in my lungs. I feel it tangling in all my nerve endings as he presses his weight against me and moans into my lips.

“Tell me how to stop loving you, Cassie. Please. I have no f*cking clue.”

He kisses me deeper. Longer. More intensely. It’s seduction and yearning. Raw and unashamed.

It’s everything.

Our mouths and hands become frantic. He says he wants to keep us apart, but our bodies have other ideas.

His movements are rough impatient with need. When he tugs at my shirt, I lift my arms to let him pull it off. My jeans are next, and I have to lean against the wall as he yanks them down. When he kisses his way back up, my legs liquefy.

Heat is coursing from him into me and back again. Everywhere he touches me burns. All the places he’s yet to touch ache. His mouth is everywhere, like he’s trying to consume me. I know how he feels. I’m just as hungry for him.

I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, desperate to get to the skin beneath. I get most of them undone, but the last one won’t give way. I grunt as I rip the fabric and push the shirt off his shoulders. When both of my hands finally land on his chest and press against the thrumming pulse beneath, I sigh.

This is more than lust. It’s even more than love. It’s imperative. Mindless, bloody-minded need. I can’t kiss him deep enough, or hold him close enough.

“God, Ethan…”

He’s not gentle, and that’s okay with me. I’m not used to him like this. So raw and uncontrolled. Nothing is being held back. Nothing. And it’s so thrilling to get so much of him, emotion catches in my throat.

He tugs at my bra and pulls the straps down so he can get to my breasts. All I am is breath as he kisses and nibbles, and when he pushes one hand into my panties, I’m one long, unending inhale.

I grip him so hard, it’s like I’m trying to get inside his skin. As I unbuckle his belt and pull it free, he’s still teasing me with his fingers and mouth, keeping me pinned to the wall to stop me from flying away. I yank his jeans open, and it’s only when I slide my hand into his boxers that he falters in his intensity. All of sudden, he’s still, and his whole body shudders as I palm the weight of him and squeeze.

Oh, how he feels. How he looks as I touch him. Muscles flex with grateful shudders and restrained urgency.

He puts a hand against the wall, head low, breath fast. He looks like he’s in pain, but I know better. I stop long enough to work his jeans and underwear over his hips, and then I maneuver him back against the wall so I can kiss a line down his chest. When I reach his abs, he starts cursing. When I take him in my mouth, he’s not even forming words anymore, just long, raspy vowel sounds.

If I had the power, I’d have him always feel like this. Loved and worshipped. I’d melt away his doubts and insecurities with soft suction. Brush away his fears with reverent touches and low, appreciative moans.

Before long, he’s gripping my hair and pulling me away. Then he’s kissing me with renewed passion. He pauses to unlace his boots and pull off his socks. I take the opportunity to kiss his back, his shoulder, his bicep. He comes back to my mouth, and I pull off his jeans and underwear. He’s barely kicked them away before he’s sliding down my panties.

I’m not quite sure how we get on the floor, but we do. I push him down so I can taste every inch of warm, sweet-smelling skin. Every tense muscle and delicious groove. As I’m working on his chest, I’m vaguely aware of him pulling his wallet from his jeans and rolling on a condom.

When he’s done, he pushes me onto my back and settles between my legs. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the intensity of him like this. Naked and glorious. He towers over me with eyes that are somehow black but also full of fire. He studies my face as he braces on one arm, his broad shoulders tense, and then I feel him, pressing forward.

Oh.

The sweet, ecstatic pressure.

I look at him in awe. This feeling. This slow, intense filling. So different from the first time we did this. There’s still some discomfort as my inexperienced flesh gets used to being stretched, but there’s none of the previous resistance. No pain. Just the incredible miracle of one body joining with another.

Within a few gentle thrusts, he’s inside, and oh, God, I’m not big enough for the inferno of feelings he ignites in me.

His mouth is open. Eyes heavy and blinking.

How can he possibly think we can’t work when we’re like this? This is bigger than fear. More important than doubt.

He starts to move, slowly at first, his jaw clenched in determination. Then, his need takes over and he gains momentum. Every thrust brings him deeper. I clutch at his shoulders, and watch as his face morphs through different layers of pleasure. He’s magnificent.

He tangles his hands in my hair. Kisses my chest. Suckles on my neck. Through it all, he’s moving, long slides that make me quake and gasp. Heat crawls up my neck as pleasure spins inside me. When he increases his pace, I know I’m making embarrassing sounds, but I can’t stop. He’s too much.