RECOVER
Gillian
THERE WAS A sense of unreality as Lucas threaded his fingers through mine and brought my knuckles to his lips.
Was this actually happening?
The soft brush against my skin reassured me it was when a shiver ran down my spine. But the way he then led me through his apartment and to his room without so much as stopping to take his coat off, more than reaffirmed it because his actions had me trembling.
Lucas was a part of me. He was the blood running through my veins. The oxygen I needed to breath. The thing I didn’t know I was missing in my life until I met him.
After first instructing me to remove my outerwear and then help him with his own, he eased me onto the edge of his bed.
My lips parted when I hit the mattress. “I want you.”
Holding my gaze, with one hand he fumbled to unbutton my jeans. “And I want you, Strawberry Fields.”
I smiled, letting out a blissful sigh. “I like that.”
“What do you like?” he asked, his voice going impossibly deep and low.
“When you call me that. It sounds so sweet.”
“You are sweet,” he replied, tugging my jeans down and tossing them aside before allowing his gaze to shift from my face to the lacey thong I was wearing, and sucking in a breath.
“Sweet enough to eat?” I asked, holding my arms up so he could pull my sweater over my head.
He licked his lips. “Every single bit.”
Already I felt precariously close to coming, and he hadn’t even touched me yet. It was the look in his eyes and the determination in his moves that had me already climbing a mountain that I hoped to never fully reach the top of anytime soon.
After removing my undergarments, I leaned back on my elbows and gazed at him in surreal wonder as he removed his own clothing. It seemed to take forever; then again, I always was impatient when it came to Lucas. “Hurry up,” I said.
He shook his head in amusement, and then he pounced on the bed, landing on his left side, and finally he was lying beside me.
I reached for him.
He reached for me.
We mapped each other’s bodies with our mouths, our tongues, and our teeth. I traced the lines of his abdominal muscles. He licked his tongue over and around my breasts. I kissed the inside of his elbows, the backs of his knees. He nipped at my ankles, my wrists.
His cock surged into my hand when I wrapped my fingers around it. I let out a breathy sigh that sent tingles from my head to my toes as he licked and devoured my nipples.
When his palm skimmed over my core, I started shaking. I couldn’t wait another minute to have him inside me. “Come here,” I whispered.
“I’m here,” he breathed, as he quickly moved up my body.
I brought his face to mine, and fluttered my lashes against his skin, over and over, while he laughed softly. And then I kissed his closed eyes, threaded my fingers though his hair, and breathed him in.
It’s strange how the things you miss most are the things you take for granted.
His smell, the taste of him, the feel of him. Then again, I missed everything about him. “Make love to me,” I whispered.
He didn’t wait.
Rolling onto his back, he urged me on top of him. I straddled him and he guided his cock right where it needed to be. As I slowly eased down, he pushed up, hard and deep.
I cried out.
Instantly, he could feel me. “That’s it,” he said, “let me in.”
I cried out again, and let him in.
I would always let him in.
Moving slowly, he sucked in steadying breaths. I watched as he struggled to control himself, as he tried to make love to me instead of fucking me.
Leaning down to kiss him, I tasted sweat on his upper lip, and it tasted good.
Even when the pace got frantic, when I raked my nails down his chest, and he bit me hard enough to bruise, when the headboard creaked from how hard I was gripping it, the feeling of love was everywhere.
Closing his eyes as he withdrew, he opened them to look at me when he brought me down hard on top of him, burying himself deep inside me.
I bucked upward, my cry splintering the air. “I’m going to come.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m almost there,” he told me.
But I had already fallen. I closed my eyes and arched my back and allowed this wave of never-ending pleasure to wash over me.
At the same time, he thrust upwards one last time and held himself deep. I opened my eyes then to watch him. He was beautiful when he came.
With his chest heaving and his eyes wild and unfocused, he emptied himself into my body.
We were both struggling to catch our breath, to suck enough air into our lungs, but we were both smiling.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you,” I replied in a dreamy voice.
I collapsed beside him, and he pulled me to him. After a few silent moments, he reached for my hand and placed it on his already hardening cock.
“Again?” I giggled.
“Again,” he laughed.
His mouth found the spot that drove me wild at the base of my throat, and I moaned in ecstasy. He bit the slope of my bare shoulder, and I cried out. He moved along my skin with sureness of familiarity even after all these months apart, and I writhed under his touch.
Here he was, with me, touching me, wanting me, owning me, loving me, and it felt so good.
It felt so right.
It felt like home.