Page 56 of Love Bound

She starts to come toward me and I set the book down. My heart begins to beat hard. She's moving slowly, deliberately. She's wearing floral tights that accent her calves and thighs, and a long T-shirt and no bra. Her breasts swing underneath the material. Her hair is long and loose and now she holds it off to the side in one hand.

I watch her as she rounds the sofa, leans over me from behind, and slowly releases that mane. She turns her head and brushes her lips to mine. I try to rise to kiss her but she's got her arms on my shoulders and holds me in place. Claire tips my head back, comes in for another kiss, and this time she lets us connect. Stroking my throat with her hand as my tongue moves deep inside her mouth—she tastes warm and sweet—I can feel her hand on my collarbone, my throat. We start breathing heavily and a hand begins to slide down my chest, slowly, under the collar of my shirt, kneading my pec before she gently pinches my nipple.

I can hear myself groan softly, and she tilts my head farther back.

She gasps a little when she breaks away from the kiss and looks at me, her eyes heavily lidded. "You're gorgeous. All of this. All of you."

I'm as hard as stone. Taking her forearm, I guide her around the end of the sofa until she faces me. Every time I try to speak she touches a finger to my lips. I want to tell her how beautiful she is, how completely perfect she is, but I'm afraid I'll ruin it if I don’t respect that warning finger.

Reaching up, she slides the tights off and I can smell her—skin and lotion and wetness. I pull down my pants just enough to let my erection free and take off my shirt. Still standing, she straddles my thighs and I reach down to touch her bud. It’s swollen and her vagina is so wet, my fingers slip right inside. I curve my index finger around her pubic bone and gently, rhythmically, rub that tender spot while my thumb swirls her clit.

"Oh my God, Finn," she gasps. Her trembling thighs make me even harder.

My cock is slick with precum. She hands me a condom and I rip the wrapper open with my teeth before rolling the condom over my cock.

Then she leans in for another kiss as she sits on the tip of my cock and eases down, but only partway. She tears her lips from mine, looks right into my eyes, gripping me with her sex, and pulls up then runs down the entire shaft in one move.

Her back arches as she sinks down into my lap, my cock inside her. I can feel her around me, and she cries out a little.

I grab her forearms and pull her to me as she plants her feet and rises halfway again. And again, over and over, she rises partway, clenches, releases, until she moves to my very tip, teasing my cock with her sex, and then she grips tightly and slides down all the way to my core.

I'm lost.

I have to let go of her. I raise my arms over the back of the sofa and grip the wooden frame. I feel spread open, the only way to get a breath is to gasp, and then I come, arching up with her still on me, me still in her. And then she, too, releases in waves. We move to the same beat, my cock throbbing, her vagina clenching. Every muscle in my body is instantly hard as my hips carry us through, wave after wave, until it’s over.

Letting go of the sofa, I clutch Claire's shoulders, as if she's my lifeline. She's soft and supple, and I want to cradle her while I'm still inside her.

She shudders, sagging against me—her hair in my face, her breasts on my chest, her feet drawing up. She eases off a little too quickly, rolling to my left, and I gasp again as I slide out of her, my cock tender.

After I roll the condom off, she curls next to me. Her small weight seems to fit against me just right. I put an arm around her and pull the throw over us. My heart hammers in my chest, not just from sex or pain. It's trying to regain its rhythm after desolation. I feel a hot lump forming in the back of my throat.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

She shifts a little, looking up into my face. Her, "I don’t ever come like this, I'm sorry," arrives muffled.

I swallow hard, waiting for my heart to stop roiling in my chest. "What? Don't apologize."

I can tell she's holding her breath. There's a shaky release, and then she holds it again.

I look down at her. "Hey. Are you crying?" I tilt her face up and her eyes are bright blue, a tear slides down one cheek.

"I feel like when I come, I'm gross," she confesses.

Now, my head is clearing.

Who the hell has she dated?

"You are so sexy, Claire. I mean look at you."

"I can't," she says.

"Why?"

"I've never had it happen so fast, and so . . . I don't know. Like that."

"Like what?" I ask.

"Like that. Like my body was doing its own thing. I was out of control. "