Page 102 of The Last Kiss

Our lips fuse, his hands skimming my exposed skin. “Never has black lace looked so perfect.”

“Never has naked looked so perfect,” I counter.

I shiver as his broad hands rise from my waist, cupping my tits, pushing them together into rounded globes that make his eyes widen. Dipping his dark head, he presses butterfly soft kisses onto the swells and curves.

“This stays on,” he growls, lowering himself, one hand still firmly cupping my laced goods, brushing circles with his thumb, making me arch my back. Kisses trail my body, tongue dancing a path downwards. My fingers find his hair, slipping through the long, dark waves, dancing around where they end at his neck.

When his free hand palms my thigh, sliding over my oiled skin, roughing over the delicate lace, I give a little tremble.

This is profound.

Every time with him has been out of this world bliss, but now there’s this intensity burning. It’s a dark need to feel him at the very root of me, a clawing desperation for us to be fused and connected in a way that words will never truly describe. For us to be a single entity with one breath.

“Henri,” I murmur, drawing him back up towards me. “I really need you.”

“But the lace.”

“I don’t care.”

His eyes meet mine and I know he gets it too. He gets me. This unexpected soul mate of mine. A wild coursing sensation, foreign and unknown sweeps through my body, making my stiff heart swell. This is the same way I felt in the rain in Notting Hill weeks and weeks ago, but now I know what it is. I’m brave enough to know what it is.

He reaches for the cupboard by the bed.

“No.” I pull him back. “Just you.”

“Julianna,” he breathes my name like a prayer.

“Just you.” Hooking my fingers in the expensive black lace I push the knickers down, exposing myself to his hungry gaze, stretching to his sweeping touch as his fingers dip between my thighs. “No. I want my first touch to be you.”

“But—”

With a smile, I spread my legs. “Believe me, I’m ready.”

His head dips in acknowledgement and he settles between my thighs, pushing at my entrance with nothing between us. I slip my hands down his back, lowering him so we are connected across every inch of our skin, our lips slanted, fast and firm as he pushes inside, filling me, fulfilling me, further and further until I gasp his name, my eyes screwed shut.

This is where I need him.

Warm, soft but hard, firmly centred within me. It’s electric, ripples flood my skin, everything heightened.

“You are the most beautiful thing, Julianna.”

My eyes fly open to find him watching me. A dark heat licks inside me and he hasn’t even moved yet. He closes his eyes, groaning softly as he rocks back and forth, gentle at first, the feel of him bare inside me almost I think bringing us both to an unexpected ending.

I clutch in a gasp of air, holding it in my lungs, not wanting to come already, but it does nothing. Every stroke of his hips teeters me on an edge of the unknown and my orgasm blasts hard and I dig my nails into his back, arching against his weight. “Shit,” I gasp.

That is not what I wanted to happen at all.

Henri though is grinning, no, smirking, that boyish dimple teasing me. He rolls us, keeping us connected. “Ride me, ma petite.”

I’m gonna ride him like a bareback pony. I circle my hips grinding him deeper. His hands settle at my sides, keeping my rhythm as my orgasm creates a sensitivity that’s almost on the point of pain. Our gazes lock. Holy shit, another tingle builds.

“Oh, dear god,” I groan. The angle is everything. Electric pulses shoot me down deep, all the while his hands keep me steady, his hips rising slightly to meet my dance.

“Julia,” he sighs my name, hand reaching for my tit, squeezing, somehow freeing it from the lacy confines and spilling me over the top.

I glance down at how we are connected, how I’m exposed, and it’s the most wanton thing I’ve ever seen. It’s another log onto the fire of my pleasure.

“Henri, I’m going to come again.” I pant my words, each one exhaling on a puff of air.