Brave Enough(41)

He’s not finished, though. His hands continue down my stomach, onto my thighs where they slide back up, under my skirt. Pushing my panties aside, his fingers find my entrance and he eases them inside. He presses hard and deep, his three digits rubbing me from the inside. “And this. This is in it for me.”

As he works magic from within my throbbing center, his eyes never leave mine. “B-but this is just sex,” I tell him on a pant, even though I don’t believe that at all. At least not for me. But I’m quickly losing interest in the conversation.

“Is it? Is it just sex when you’re all I can think about?” he asks, nipping at my bottom lip with his teeth before pulling it into his mouth. “Is it just sex when you do this to me every time you cross my mind?” He unzips his pants and frees the broad head of his erection. I can see a single drop of semen glistening on the smooth crown. “Every time you walk into a room, open those beautiful lips, capture me with those dazzling eyes?”

Curious, I reach between us and run my finger over him, swiping up the drop of moisture and bringing it to my lips. I lick the tip, savoring the flavor of him as I bring my eyes back up to his. They’re darker now, serious. Vicious almost.

Without warning, Tag crushes me to him. My bones shift. My muscles give. My flesh concedes.

We are chest to chest, my aching breasts smashed to his firm pecs as he winds his arm around my waist and lifts me. My breath sticks in my throat when I feel him prod at my wet and swollen opening.

“Does this feel like just sex to you?” he growls, slamming me down on him so hard I cry out, arching against him. He picks me back up and does it again, throwing me straight into the wild, tumultuous throws of orgasm. “That’s more than just sex. That’s perfection,” he whispers, pumping his hips up into me as he moves me on his length.

I hear his loud groans in the fuzzy back of my mind as my body tosses me on the furious waves of release. I feel him spasm within me. I feel him pour out into me. I feel him swivel his hips as if to enjoy the feel of it inside me. “There’s no better feeling than my come inside you. Marking you. Staking my claim. Making this pussy mine,” he hisses against my neck, lips and teeth and tongue nipping me as he speaks. “Tell me this pussy is mine. Tell me nobody else can have it. Say it. Say it!”

“It’s yours. All yours,” I moan and mutter, my mouth dry and my throat raw. “My pussy is all yours.”

His low roar resonates in my ear at the same time that I feel the sharp pulse of him inside me, a last spurt of warmth shooting up into me. It’s as though he really is marking me, sealing our deal from the inside, and the thought of it, the idea of it, is enough to send another bolt of pleasure rocketing through me.

“Marry me,” he whispers, his lips pressed to my throat, his heaving breath searing my skin. “Say you’ll marry me. Not because I’m an out, not because you’re trying to stick it to your father. Marry me because you need me as much as I need you. Marry me because you want my mornings as much as I want yours. Marry me because you want the afternoons and the nights, the smiles and the tears, the good and the bad. Marry me because you want all of me. Like I want all of you. All of you, every day. Every. Single. Day. Say you’ll be mine.”

I consider one answer. It’s the only one I want to give. So I do. God help me, I do.

“I’m already yours, but I’ll marry you anyway.”

When Tag’s lips find mine again, there’s a sweetness to them, a reverence that causes my eyes to fill with tears of pure, radiant joy.

“This is what’s in it for me,” he breathes against my mouth, cupping my face so that his thumbs make lazy passes over my cheekbones. “You. Always.”

I know in this moment that there will never be another man like this one. I’ll never find someone who fits me like Tag does, who thrills me like Tag does. Who can love me like Tag just did.

—

I wake to an empty bed. After that phenomenal experience on the four-wheeler, Tag drove us back, slowly weaving through the trees and casually cruising through the fields. Something quiet and comfortable had settled between us. The house was asleep by the time we returned. We crept up the stairs to my room and washed each other off in the cool spray of the shower before crawling between the crisp sheets and falling straight to sleep, my head nestled on Tag’s chest, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

I wonder briefly where he went, but when I roll over, my body is so pleasantly achy and sore that I forget my curiosity for a few minutes and just revel in the memories of his touch. I’ve had a few boyfriends in my life, boys (and in some cases men) who fit the criteria of an O’Neal match. I even really liked one of them. His name was Robert Cohen and he took my virginity. There was a time, in my young mind, when I even fantasized that he might grow up to be “the one,” even though part of me realized that was very unlikely to happen. Turns out Robert was gay, he just hadn’t come out yet. I think on some level I knew, but it was much nicer to pretend.