Funny Feelings (71)

The way his palm kneads my thigh as he holds it, wraps it around his hip, the little indents of his fingertips bruising.

The way his muscles contract beneath his skin with each push and roll of his hips into me.

I relish the feel of the coarse hairs on his thighs against the underside of mine when he lifts us, kneeling and pressing me everywhere to him, holding me closer with each decadent upward thrust. His big hand as it presses against my lower back, the other as it slides up the back of my neck and curls into my hair.

It’s an ache that pulls and thrums until every inch of skin between us grows heated and damp. Until he lays us back down and lightly picks up speed, relentlessly stroking an angle, steady and deliberate, until I start to grow wild with need. Our breathing mingles, a medley of groans and sighs. Until he gently pushes his palm against my stomach and thumbs just above where we’re joined.

I shatter. A million pieces in a million directions, brighter than the sunrise shining through the windows. All other thought escapes me, leaving only him. The weight of him as his hips drive me into the bed, his control loosening when I sob out his name, his grip on my thigh tightening as he pushes up my knee, bringing him impossibly deeper. His other palm goes to the headboard, that leverage the only thing keeping me from sliding up into it. He chokes on a growled “Fuck, Fee” when his restraint finally snaps, my nails scraping along his ass, my lips sliding clumsily up and down his face while our bodies smack together. I don’t want to tear my eyes away for a second, the sight and sound and feel of him unraveling more than my imagination could ever live up to. Until he breaks, biting into my shoulder before he collapses into a boneless heap on top of me.

We both dissolve and laugh like loons, high on one another, our hands sliding along each others faces, kissing sweetly between more laughing. This, this is joy.

“God. How did we wait so long to do that?” I say, digging and pressing into his calves with my heels.

“I don’t know, but I have a feeling we need fuel. Before we just keep at it some more.”

“Mm. That sounds good.”

“The food? Bagels? Pancakes? What do you want?”

“To keep at it some more.” And I reach up and drag his bottom lip with my teeth.





30





NOW





FARLEY


We never make it out for breakfast.

We eventually peel apart to order something to be delivered for breakfast, though, which goes cold outside our door when we forget about it.

Then we order in again for lunch. Again for a second lunch.

I wake up from an evening nap on Meyer’s chest to find him smiling down at me, hair wild. The sunset casts an orange and blue glow through the room as he traces a circle around one of my nipples.

“You’re going to end me.” He mutters.

“Me? You’re the one who wanted that fourth helping.” I say, even as my thigh creeps up his, even though I’m content down to my bones.

“Are you sore?” He asks with a little frown, his hand coming up to trace a knuckle down my cheek. The sensitive one that’s just barely swollen.

“Perfectly.” I grin.

He suppresses a satisfied grin, lifts a brow archly. “I didn’t mean like that.”

“I know. But no, I’m fine. More than fine.” Every muscle in my body wants to sing in happiness.

“Are you hungry?”

I shake my head. “Did you sleep?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Do you want to go out anywhere?”

“Not tonight, if that’s okay. I want to play a game.”

He smiles lopsidedly. “Alright.”

“Roll over,” I command. His brow lifts but he obeys, pinching a tender nipple playfully before he slides out from under me.

He lays on his stomach, tucking a pillow and his forearms under his head and treating me to an unobstructed view of his strong back, the perfect mound of his ass. I indulge myself with something I’ve thought about doing countless times and bite the apple, drawing a quick yelp out of him. “Sorry, sorry. Had to be done. For science.”

“I’ll get you back later,” he says, side-eyeing me with a wicked smile.

I straddle his hips, planting myself against the curve of his lower back. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I don’t know how long I can play this,” he says darkly.

“Why? Am I hurting you?”

“I can feel everything, Fee. All of you.”

I laugh, but won’t be distracted. “I’m going to trace things on your back and you have to guess what I’m drawing, okay?”

He grunts.

I trace a circle with spiked rays around it.

“The sun,” he immediately says.

“Okay that was too easy. Try this.” I trace another shape, curling down at the handle.

“Fee, I literally have an umbrella tattooed on my body already, of course I know what that is.”

“Fine. How about this?” I trace a series of clouds, poking my fingers all around to indicate rain drops.

“Rain and clouds. Now can I roll over and sit you on my face?”

“One more thing.”

I hold my hand in the shape and press it against a spot on his skin. If I could sink it through him it would push directly into his heart.