Page 46 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
Impatient, I reached for his shirt, tugging it from his jeans. He helped me, whipping it off with his white undershirt inside it. Both of us moaned as our bare chests came together. His was hard and warm and muscular, and I pressed myself against it as tightly as I could, kissing him like I’d never stop, like the night would never end, like he and I would go on forever.
His hands moved over me like wildfire, greedy and uncontrollable, setting every inch of my skin ablaze. In my hair, down my back, on my breasts, which ached for his touch. He shoved my pants and underwear down my legs, and I stepped free. Immediately he grabbed my ass and pulled me against him, but I was too short to feel his hard length where I wanted it. Where I needed it.
Frustrated, I fumbled with his belt until it was undone, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and shoved my hand down the front of his pants. I wrapped my hand around his cock and fisted it tight. It was so hot. I’d forgotten how hot a man’s erection was, how it felt to have that hard heat sliding through my fingers or between my lips or against my clit. Sensual memories I’d thought lost to me came rushing back, awakening nerve endings in my body I’d neglected and let wither. Now they were alive, screaming with hunger and demanding to be fed.
Looping my arms around his neck, I jumped up, wrapping my legs around him. He groaned and slid his hands beneath my thighs as I rubbed my clit along his shaft. I was wet and needy and brazen, writhing against him, plunging my tongue into his mouth, clutching fistfuls of his hair. He slid two fingers inside me, and I gasped. “Yes,” I whispered against his lips. “Yes.” And then, since I’d never felt so desperate for anyone and I’d checked my shame at the door, I decided to go on, to say things I’d never even said to Drew. “I want you to fuck me, Wes. Hard. Now.” It felt good to take control that way, to tell someone what I wanted and know it would be delivered.
Without a word, he put my back against the wall, kept me hoisted with one arm, and reached between us with the other hand, positioning himself between my legs. We both groaned as the smooth head of his cock slid inside me. He rocked in and out a few times, easing me open for him, giving me a chance to get reacquainted with the exquisite stretch and surrender. But I was impatient. “All of you,” I panted. “I want all of you.”
He gave me what I wanted with one deep, hard thrust. I cried out as he growled and gripped me tight, keeping me impaled on his body, his cock buried inside me. Sharp twinges ricocheted through me as he began to move, and I closed my eyes, teeth clenched against the pain.
But I liked it—I liked its depth and its strength and its intensity. It meant this was real, I was here, I was alive. I can still feel. He began to move faster, and I was out of my mind with the rapture of it, with the pleasure and pain, the heat and friction.
Our bodies moved together with ease and familiarity, as if they’d known this climb before and remembered the way. But there was newness too—the shocking thought that this was Wes’s mouth on my skin, Wes’s hands on my ass, Wes’s cock driving inside me. I said his name over and over again, my lips barely brushing his.
“God, Hannah.” He slowed for a moment, circling his hips, making my body arch in supplication. “It’s so fucking good.”
“Don’t stop.” Over his shoulder I caught our reflection in the mirror, and I nearly exploded at the sight of his naked back, my clutching hands, my wanton, half-lidded eyes and open mouth. Was it really me? Was that possible? I watched the mouth stretch into a lazy, erotic smile. Watched the hands slide into his hair. Watched the head tilt as I put my lips to his ear. “Make me come, Wes. I want to come for you.”
He groaned, and I felt him throb once inside me. “Fuck. I don’t want to come too—”
“Do it. Now. I want to feel it.” It would be the final untethering from the anchor of grief and loneliness, this shared release, pulsing with vitality, the ultimate victory over death. “I need it. I need it.” He resumed his earlier rhythm, moving faster and faster, taking me right to the edge while I begged him to come with me.
“Christ, Hannah.” His voice broke. “You’re killing me.”
And you’re bringing me back to life.
With a passionate cry, my body erupted, the orgasm emanating from the center of me and reverberating throughout my limbs in glorious, rhythmic waves. Wes came almost immediately after I did, as if the first clutch of my body around his had burst the dam.
He pressed his face into my neck, his groan vibrating against my skin, his cock surging again and again inside me. I wrapped my arms around his
head and held him close like he was mine, like I was his, like we were in love and love would keep us safe.
But it wouldn’t. Love was never safe.
I started to panic. My heart. My heart. It’s beating too fast. Something was hurting me. My chest was way too tight.
A cold sweat broke out on my back. My body began to tremble.
Wes picked up his head, breathing hard. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. Was he choking me?
He set me down gently and extricated himself from my body. “Hannah, you’re shaking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
His voice was coming from far away. It was freezing in here. I was going to freeze to death, and he was going to let me. Maybe he was even going to kill me. My hands were already going numb. I shivered uncontrollably, gasping for air. My heart was beating out of control. I fidgeted, but I couldn’t get away. My feet were like blocks of ice.
“I can’t—I can’t—”
Wes recognized what was happening, and the doctor in him took over. “Okay honey, it’s okay. Breathe with me. In for four, out for four.” He talked calmly, his hands brushing my hair back from my face. He inhaled and exhaled with me, long, deep breaths that eased the anxiety inside me. He took one of my hands and pressed his fingertips to the inside of my wrists. “Good girl. You’re okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”
I’m not sure how many minutes the panic attack lasted, but eventually my heart rate slowed. I regained feeling in my hands and feet. My senses returned. I registered the loud tick of the kitchen clock. The lingering scent of chicken pot pie. The broadness of his shoulders. The slow trickle of warmth from my body.
I found my voice. “Uh, I need a minute.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Okay, but I…” I glanced down at my naked thighs.
