Ugly Love(32)
The second he pulls out of me, his lips are on my neck, moving down until they meet my breasts. He kisses them but only briefly before he’s back at my mouth again. “I want to taste you,” he says. “Is that okay?”
I nod.
I nod vigorously.
He pulls away from the bed, disposes of the condom, and returns to his spot next to me. I watch him the entire time, because—as much as he didn’t want to know how long it’s been since I’ve been with a guy—it’s been almost a year. That’s not anywhere near the six years he’s waited, but it’s been long enough that I don’t want to miss this by keeping my eyes closed. Especially now that I get to stare freely at that V and not have to be embarrassed by the fact that I can’t take my eyes off of him.
He’s watching my body now with the same fascination as his hand glides across my stomach, then moves down until he reaches my thighs. He pushes my legs apart as he watches what he’s doing to me with so much enthrallment I have to keep my eyes open so I can watch him watch me. Seeing what I do to him is enough of a turn-on without him even touching me.
Two of his fingers slide into me, and I suddenly find it a lot more difficult to continue watching him. His thumb remains outside me, teasing every spot it can touch. I moan and let my hands fall to the bed above my head as my eyes close.
I pray he doesn’t stop. I don’t want him to stop.
His mouth meets mine, and he kisses me softly, his lips a stark contrast to the pressure of his hand. His mouth slowly begins to explore its way down my chin until it’s on my neck, the dip in my throat, trailing down my chest, covering my nipple, down my stomach, down, down, holy shit, down.
He settles himself between my legs, leaving his fingers inside me as his tongue meets my skin, separating me, causing my back to arch and my mind to let go.
I just let go.
I don’t care that I’m moaning so loudly I probably just woke up the entire floor.
I don’t care that I’m digging my heels into the mattress, trying to pull away from him because it’s too much.
I don’t care that his fingers leave me in order to grip my hips and hold me against his mouth, refusing to let me climb away from him, thank God.
I don’t care that I’m more than likely hurting him, pulling his hair, pushing him into me, doing whatever I can to reach a point so high I’m almost positive I’ve never been there before.
My legs begin to shake, and his fingers find their way back inside me, and I’m pretty sure I’m trying to smother myself with his pillow, because I don’t want to get him kicked out of this apartment building by screaming as loudly as I need to scream right now.
All of a sudden, I feel as if I’m up in the air, flying. I feel like I could look down and there would be a sunrise below me. I feel like I’m soaring.
I’m . . .
Oh, God.
I’m . . .
Jesus Christ.
I’m . . . this . . . him.
I’m falling.
I’m floating.
Wow.
Wow, wow, wow.
I never want to touch the ground again.
When I’ve completely melted to the bed, he hungrily works his mouth back up my body. He takes the pillow off my face and tosses it aside, then kisses me briefly.
“One more time,” he says. He’s off the bed and back on it in a matter of seconds, and then he’s inside me again, but I don’t even try to open my eyes this time. My arms are splayed out above my head, and his fingers are entwined with mine, and he’s pushing, thrusting, living inside me. Our cheeks are pressed together, and his forehead is against my pillow, and neither of us has the energy left to even make a sound this time.
He tilts his head until his lips meet my ear, and then he slows down to a gentle rhythm, pushing into me, then pulling completely out. He holds himself still, then pushes into me again, then pulls all the way out. He does this several more times, and all I can do is lie here and feel him.
“Tate,” he whispers, his lips close to my ear. He pulls out of me and stills himself again. “I can already say this with one hundred percent certainty.”
He thrusts back inside me.
“The.”
He pulls out, then repeats his movement again.
“Best.”
Again.
“Thing.”
Again.
“I’ve.”
Again.
“Ever.”
Again
“Felt.”
He holds himself still, breathing heavily against my ear, gripping my hands so hard they hurt; but he doesn’t make a single sound while he releases for the second time.
We don’t move.
We don’t move for a long time.
I can’t wipe the exhausted smile off my face. I’m pretty sure it’s there permanently now.
Miles pulls back and looks down on me. He smiles when he sees my face, and looking at him brings it to my attention that he never once made eye contact either time he was inside me. It makes me wonder if this was intentional or if it was just a coincidence.
“Comments?” he asks teasingly. “Suggestions?”
I laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I can’t . . . words . . .” I shake my head, letting him know I still need a little time before I can speak.
“Speechless,” he says. “Even better.”
He kisses me on the cheek, then stands up and walks to his bathroom. I close my eyes and wonder how in the hell this whole thing between us will ever end well.
It can’t.
I can already tell because I never want to do this with anyone else ever again.
Only Miles.
He walks back into the bedroom and bends down to pick up his boxer shorts. He picks up my underwear and jeans in the process and lays them on the bed beside me.