Lovely Trigger(52)

It was insanity.

He didn’t look up at me. It was still dark enough that I could just make out the top of his head. I tried to be quiet enough to hear if he was breathing like I was, but my heart was beating so loudly that I couldn’t make out anything beyond it.

“Turn the light back on,” he told me, voice low and hoarse.

I had to move away to grab the remote, my hands fumbling, trembling as I slid the lights back to bright.

“Come here,” he ordered roughly.

Some sarcastic remark tried to make its way out of my mouth, but the look in his eyes stopped any sound from leaving my lungs. I moved to him, my hands not so much clenching as folding in on themselves with the effort to keep from touching him.

He had no such qualms, dragging me close to straddle him the moment I was back in his reach. He slid my tight skirt up to my hips, hauling me on top to straddle him. His hands were all over me, hungry touches that took a bit of everything, his ravenous eyes taking so much more.

“How do you do that?” he whispered roughly. “How do you keep talking, keep moving around like you don’t feel it, too?”

I shook my head, finally unfolding my fingers and digging them into his scalp, gripping at his silky hair.

He moved my hips with his hands until my sex was flush against his erection. Through my panties, and his pants, he moved us together, grinding against me until I moaned and shook.

“Tell me you feel it and I’ll give you relief. Admit I’m not alone here.”

I shrugged out of the sleeves of my top, leaving me bare from the ribs up. I arched my back, my breasts pushed up high for him, like an offering. They were slightly fuller than they’d been all those years ago, and I wondered if he’d noticed. I was still in good shape, but I’d filled out a bit. I wasn’t dancer skinny anymore, and my breasts now overflowed a C cup. The curve of my waist was just as small as it had been, my stomach just as toned, but my hips had a slight curve to them now that wasn’t all hipbone.

The way he took in the sight of me let me know that, whether he remembered enough to notice the difference, he appreciated what he was seeing.

In fact, he was panting for me, desperate for me.

I’d worn the dress specifically to do this to him. How could I have fooled myself for even a second that I was doing anything else?

I watched his downturned face watch my upturned body. He was biting his lower lip, which made his dimples stand out starkly.

His thick eyelashes cast deep shadows on his passion-slackened face, just the tiniest hint of his eyes visible to mine.

But it was enough.

I loved to see that look in his eyes, even if it did drag me back in time six years, to when I’d believed that love could conquer everything.

He tongued a nipple, and I bore down on him, tilting my hips until his zipper was digging directly into my clit. It heightened the ache to the point of pain, but I couldn’t stop doing it.

“Say it,” he mouthed against my skin, no actual sound coming out.

“Yes,” I panted. I would have said almost anything just then to get the relief he promised. “I feel it. I need it. Now, Tristan.”

He exhaled heavily against my skin, which made my entire body shudder in anticipation. It knew what was coming.

Rapture, ecstasy, a few brief moments of forgetting everything in the world but what this beautiful man could do to my body, to my very soul.

He reached between us, still sucking at my skin. His fingers brushed against me as he went for his zipper, and I rubbed against his knuckles, moaning as I hit just the right spot.

He cursed, fumbling to free himself. He had to peel his mouth away from my skin and look at his hands before he finally pulled his stiff length out and up, shoving my panties aside so he could push straight into my entrance.

I shifted my hips until he was sliding into me slowly. I was wet, but he was substantial, and it took some work to get him inside of me at this angle.

Even when he’d worked himself all the way into me, he didn’t rush it, taking his time, pausing while I moaned and throbbed on top of him.

He gripped my hips and began to move, lifting me high, until just the tip of him stayed inside, then jack knifed his hips up, thrusting deep again.

So many sexy things still came out of his mouth as he had me. He wasn’t a ranter, not like me, except for during the act. As he took me, he never could keep a word in. Praises, curses, endearments, more cussing, more compliments. I soaked it up. Basked in it.

I was too undone or too outclassed to do much but hold on. This was not a good position for me, with my bad knee, but you wouldn’t know it just then. Just then, he was taking the brunt of the weight, and I couldn’t have cared less about the discomfort that left in the mix.

My body was there, oh God yes, it was, but I was not in it. I floated weightless somewhere, just a few feet above, as my helpless body got rocked.

He propelled himself in and out of me, his hands and hips working in sync to f*ck me, not fast, not slow, but hard and deep.

His hands on my hips guided me until, at some point, they weren’t so much leading the rhythm as they were simply holding me together, bringing floating me back into my heavy, throbbing body right as it detonated, and rapturous waves of absolute pleasure lapped over me, into me, soaking every pore of my body.

I lay limp against him and let my body and mind come back together.

It wasn’t a peaceful union.