He lifts me onto the marble vanity, wedges himself between my legs, and then stares at me, heat in his brown eyes. There’s desire there, and endless affection in his words when he says, “I thought about you all day.”
“You’re just trying to get under my skirt again,” I tease.
“Oh yes, I am absolutely dying to get under your skirt, but I also thought about you. I thought about fucking you. I thought about the way you smiled at me this morning. I thought about having dinner with you again. I thought about all those things.”
My heart does a wild loop the loop. “I like seeing you,” I confess, and it feels good to get it off my chest.
“You enjoy meeting me like this in my bathroom?”
“I do. I kind of like meeting you anywhere,” I say, amazed that it’s so easy to speak the truth to him. It’s so simple to be honest about all these burgeoning feelings.
I don’t know why. Maybe because we both know the score? We both know I’m not his Ms. Right.
But I am his Ms. Right Now.
He ducks his head against my neck, burying his face there, pressing his lips to my skin, traveling up to my ear, and giving me a kiss that makes me tremble all over. “I want to do all those things with you. I want to have dinner with you and take you out and walk around town, but right now I really want to be inside you again.”
“I want the exact same thing.”
I wrap my legs around him, tugging his pelvis against me, sliding my hands around his neck and bringing him close. I kiss him hard and hungrily. He glances down at my dress and runs a thumb over the fabric of my skirt. “You’ve taken to wearing sundresses around me.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“You are indeed,” he says, sliding open a drawer and reaching for a condom.
He kisses me, deeply and thoroughly, with so much passion that I am panting and gasping. I’m sure he can tell that it won’t take me long.
Breaking the kiss, he slides off my panties, and I push down his workout shorts, his boxers too. I run a hand along his thick, hot length, savoring the velvet-smooth feel of his skin, how his eyes close, and then squeeze shut. Then the small groans he makes, the noises that rumble from him as I stroke.
But not for long.
On a sexy, needy moan, he stops my hand, opens the condom, and rolls it on. He brings himself between my legs, teasing against my wetness. I set my palms behind me on the bathroom counter, bracing myself on them, angling my back so my breasts push up, and giving him the perfect angle to fuck me hard and deep.
In seconds, he’s all the way in me, and I am lost. I am lost in the sensations that whip through me. And the connection that I feel with him already.
And as he fucks me harder, the way I like it, because he’s already learned how I like it, everything feels like it’s happening so soon.
But it also doesn’t feel soon at all.
Because I remember all we said that first night. From the second I met you, I wanted to kiss you.
And that’s attraction, that’s connection.
But the wanting intensified before we touched, grew stronger as I got to know him, and it combusted the night we came together.
It’s fire now.
It’s become this. The way we fit. The way I wrap my arms around his neck, bring him close, and kiss the hell out of him as he thrusts inside me. And it’s this too, him whispering in my ear, “God, you feel so fucking good, love.”
Love.
It’s simply a British term of endearment. It doesn’t mean anything more than honey or goddess or babe. But I love that it came out of his mouth only in the heat of the moment. That he’s not the type of man who throws love around with abandon.
It’s almost like a sweet, dirty foreign language, reserved for me. And I use it with him too, in my own way, telling him, “I love when you fuck me, Liam.”
“Yeah? You like it when I’m deep in you? When I take you hard?” He brings a hand between my legs, stroking my clit, rubbing me right where I want him. Pleasure twists in my belly, blooms, then radiates through my whole body as I dig my nails into his back, wrap my legs tight around him, and groan, “I’m coming.”
“Come with me, love.”
There it is again. That word.
We could become so much more than sex.
But maybe we already are.
That Friday afternoon, he gets off work early.
I do too, and I wait on the edge of town by the train tracks. The sun is high above my head as I rest my hand above my eyes, watching for him. A gorgeous man walks toward me. If I thought my heart thundered before, it does even crazier things now. It’s like a drum beating loudly in my chest, jackhammering in my ears. When he sees me, he comes right up to me, cups my cheek, and kisses me.
