I swallow, my heart pinching. There is no room for anything except sex, especially here, especially now. “Because you’re a smart man who is going back to a promising career.”
“But how smart am I when I have to leave a woman like you behind?”
I shut my eyes. “New rule,” I tell him, my hand slipping to his jeans and undoing his fly. “We are never to mention the fact that you are leaving. From now on.”
He pulls back and stares at me, one hand dipping down between my legs, the other cupping my cheek. His lips are wet, parted, so entirely suckable, his eyes fraught with some wild emotion I can’t read.
“I’m not sure I can pretend that,” he says thickly.
“You don’t have to pretend,” I tell him, moaning softly as his fingers slide along my wetness. “We just won’t bring it up. Live in the now. Always now.” My hand finds the stiff, hot length of his cock, and I pull it out of his pants. “By the way, you don’t wear underwear either.”
He closes his eyes and hisses softly as I wrap my fingers around him. “Just trying to keep up with you,” he says, voice rich and raspy.
“I appreciate the effort,” I manage to say as he dips a finger inside me. My body seems to exhale from his touch, as if I need him in order to breathe. Everything aches for him, and I clench around his finger greedily, wanting more, needing more.
But this isn’t about me. I slide my hand over his cock, dragging the silk of his precum down his rigid, heated length. I want to unravel him. I want to bring him to his knees. I want, more than anything, to undo this man and leave him the way he’s leaving me, like a string pulled and a top spinning, over and over again, waiting for the fall.
His head goes back, mouth open. He lets out an elicit moan, the cords of his neck and the thick lines of his shoulders straining. Good god, watching him succumb to pleasure makes me happier and crazier than he would ever know.
Naturally I want to give him more. My hand works him expertly, knowing now just where to grip, where to twist, and judging by his quick breaths, I’m sure he’s close to coming. But he finally raises his head, his eyes unfocused as they roam over my face, fighting through a haze.
“Turn around,” he says, his voice so hoarse that it’s barely audible. “Please.”
I do as he asks. He pushes up my dress so it’s bunched up at my waist, and I bend over, grabbing the iron bars for support. It kind of feels like I’m about to be fucked in prison, like some kind of conjugal visit, and my deepest fantasies go wild. It’s not hard to imagine when you have a troubled, tatted beast of a man about to take you from behind.
His hands skirt my sides, over my hips, and down my thighs. I feel him crouch behind me, his fingers gripping my ass, and I try and sneak a look over my shoulder. He’s down on his knees and I can just see the top of his head beneath me.
I’m about to ask him what he has planned, but then I feel his face sink into me from behind, his hot mouth closing over me, his bottom lip sliding up over my clit.
Jesus. Being eaten out from behind? Yes, please.
He groans into me and I can feel the vibrations in my bones. I swell between his lips and he sucks me in his mouth like ripened fruit. I let out a loud gasp, my hands gripping the bars for dear life. It nearly knocks me off my feet.
“Love,” he whispers huskily, pulling back. He licks up the curve of my ass, my body exploding with a shower of sparks. “I don’t think I can ever stop tasting you.”
My mouth opens to say something but he dives, no, submerges his face back into me and I let out a low, guttural noise, like it’s being torn from my throat. I push my hips back into his mouth, a wild, uncontrollable need burning through me.
“Deeper,” I plead, so desperate for my release, my cheek pressing into the bars.
His tongue snakes inside me, then a finger, then two, and I’m thrusting back into him like a fucking animal. I know I must look like one of those wild, drug-high girls you see at a fuck-fueled sex orgy, but I don’t care.
I’m so close to coming.
I’m at the tip, looking over the edge, ready for the freefall.
Then he pulls back and I actually whimper in disappointment.
“You want more?” he asks gruffly, holding onto my ass. “Tell me what you want. To come on my tongue? Or to come on my cock? Both?”
“God, don’t make this complicated,” I whine, breathless and insatiable.
“All of the above, then.” He spreads my legs wider, my sandals scraping along the stone floor, and pushes his face back in, his tongue, fingers, and mouth absolutely everywhere.
I come instantly, my body a hair trigger. I’m a writhing, moaning, bucking mess of scattered nerves, my limbs dissolving like sugar. I’m barely conscious and I don’t know how I’m still upright. I feel him get up from behind me and hear the crinkle of a condom foil.
He grips my hips as he positions himself, and with one long, slow push he eases inside me. I’m so wet and ready that he glides right in. But oh, when he pulls back out, that slow drag hitting just the right spot, somehow I’m groaning for him all over again.
“Don’t stop,” I hiss as he plunges back inside, deeper this time, coaxing another unrestrained noise out of my throat. “Don’t you ever stop fucking me.”
“Jesus,” he swears, gravelly and low. “I’ll bury myself in you, if you let me.” Then he moves faster, small stabs of his hips pushing deeper and deeper while his skin slaps my skin louder and louder. The smell of sex, sweat, and musk fills the room.
I’m completely overwhelmed. It’s too perfect. It’s everything, everything. I close my eyes and imagine what we look like to someone else, the ropey muscles of his arms as he digs his fingers into my hips, the raw, uninhibited fucking in this cold, dim and empty place, the sight of his thick cock sliding into me from behind, his heavy balls swinging against my inner thighs.
He leans forward, his fingers sliding down and finding the smooth, swollen face of my clit. He always wants me to come with him, so I know he’s about to unload at any moment. But for some reason, I hold back, as hard as I can, wanting to pay attention to the way he so beautifully lets go without losing myself at the same time.
Drops of his sweat fall on my back. He continues pounding me, his hips changing the angle until it makes me gasp for air, my back arching. His breathing is shaky and his muscles are trembling from the strain, but he keeps going and going, whimpering now, clawing me in desperation.
There’s a moment, a pause, a sharp intake of air, then the room fills with the sounds of his harsh, sharp grunts, the sound of him coming, a sound I love so much that it pushes me over the edge. It’s the signal of his undoing, and his fingers press so hard into my skin that I’m afraid I might break in two. I am breaking in two. I am stretched thin, a plate of fragile glass, and I am breaking and breaking and breaking as he pounds me from behind.
I can barely hang onto the bars. I can barely hang onto myself. Wave after wave of emotion slams through me, filling the blank spaces, the cracks, the parts of me that have shattered off into space. I can barely breathe, and the ache, the fucking ache, is no longer between my legs but throughout my entire body.
“Kayla,” Lachlan whispers hoarsely, leaning forward against my sweaty back. “Oh, love.” He rests his cheek on my shoulder blades and his ragged breaths rise and fall against me.
I close my eyes and will myself not to cry. It’s silly. Stupid. It’s just sex. It’s just fucking sex. But the emotion doesn’t go away. It sits on my heart, and I can’t tell what it wants from me. Are these happy tears? Sad tears? Why do I have to feel anything at all but release?
My fingers on the bars are beginning to slip, so I readjust my grip, and somehow that breaks the spell. Lachlan lifts himself off of me, and with a hand on my hip, pulls himself out. I take a moment to run my fingers under my eyes before turning around to face him.
He stands there, pants at his ankles, shirt bunched up, showing off his ink and glorious six-pack. He’s pulling off the condom and tying it at the end but I’m barely paying attention. It’s the look in his eyes that gets me, steals my breath. They don’t have the peace, the softness that he usually gets after sex. He looks haunted instead, like I’m a ghost before him.