“Then don’t.”
“You’ve always been so special to me, Blue,” he whispered again and leaned over me. Our tongues tangled together with passion and desire. My core began warming all over again as he sheathed himself.
Then he leaned back to his knees, grabbed my hip with one hand, and lined up his erection to my opening. I gasped as the tip of him entered me, then he grabbed onto both of my hips and pulled me forward, filling me in one, quick thrust. My head fell back and I groaned at the sensation. So thick. So hot. I was making love to Tyson Blackwell after a decade of missing him. He gave me time to adjust to his size before he began moving.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, running my hands up and down his back.
“You feel incredible.” He leaned forward and pressed a harsh kiss to my lips. My mouth opened and I gasped into his mouth as his hips begin to rock, pulling out and pushing in, hitting the end of me with every fevered thrust.
“Tyson,” I gasped and dug my fingers into his skin. It wasn’t long before I could feel another climax begin to burn inside of me. He felt so good, and his quick and powerful thrusts forced me to hang on to him. My legs wrapped around his hips and my hands dug into his back.
“Blue,” he groaned, pulling his mouth from my skin to murmur my name. Our breaths mingled together and our gazes locked as we continued to move. This connection we had terrified me. I couldn’t pull my eyes off him and I didn’t want to. We were connected in every way. The sounds of our flesh and our fevered gasps filled the room. The air thickened and I clung to him as my orgasm began to crest. Shivers danced down my overly heated skin and I cried out his name, holding on to him for dear life.
“Fuck,” he groaned. His hips moved faster and harder, pressing into me as if he wanted to bury himself as deep as possible.
“Tyson!”
“Shit. Blue…” He stretched my name out on a groan and thrust himself inside me one more time. I felt his erection pulse deep inside my walls. His own orgasm pulled him over the cliff and he collapsed on top of me. Our foreheads pressed together, I wrapped my arms around his back, sliding up and down his sweat-lined skin while we waited for our breathing to regulate.
I needed to catch my breath.
I needed to do that again.
Sex with Tyson at eighteen was wonderful.
Sex with Tyson at twenty-eight was indescribable.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling back from me.
I smiled lightly. “That was incredible.”
His lips pressed against mine. “That was perfect.” His hand slid through my hair and he took his time pushing off me. With another quick kiss, he pulled out of me and rolled off the bed. “I’ll be right back. I just need to get cleaned up.” I muttered something indecipherable and adjusted myself so I was under the covers when he returned. He didn’t say a word as he walked back into the room and climbed into the bed on the other side.
“Do you still want me to stay?” I asked, rolling over to face him.
In all my years of dating, the after-sex part had always left me slightly more nervous than the actual sex part. Stay? Leave? Be clingy or aloof? Dating was impossible to figure out. I didn’t want to screw it up with Tyson. With a soft chuckle, he wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me to him until my head rested against his chest.
“You’re not going anywhere, anytime soon.” His hand tightened on my waist, proving his point.
“Okay,” I whispered, pressing my lips to his chest. I loved his body. I loved that while his chest was defined and firm, he wasn’t overly bulky. I loved the smattering of prickly hair that fell over each pec and then in a thin trail down the center of his abs, thickening before it disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.
I couldn’t help but run my fingers through it.
“Tyson?” I asked.
“Hmm.”
I pressed my lips against his chest again. “I had a really great time tonight.”
His low laughter reverberated against my cheek while he laughed. “Me too, Blue. Me too.”
I closed my eyes and fell asleep to the feel of his chest, his skin, and the memory of what it felt like to make love to Tyson. And I knew that no matter what my parents wanted for me…
Now was the time for me to follow my own heart.
Regardless of what it cost me.
Chapter 11
I opened my eyes and was immediately assaulted by bright sunlight filtering through the open windows.
“Ugh,” I groaned and rolled over, wiping the haze of sleep from my eyes and my brain. Next to me, Tyson’s side of the bed was empty and I frowned. The door to the bathroom was open, proving he wasn’t there, so I slid out of bed and used the facilities before swiping my teeth with toothpaste I found lying on his counter. I didn’t want to rifle through his bathroom drawers, so I did what I could to make myself look presentable, using a tissue and cold water to wipe mascara away from beneath my eyes.
Back in his bedroom, I grabbed his T-shirt from last night that was lying on his floor. Half-dressed, I laughed when I saw my shredded underwear at the end of the bed. I couldn’t believe he tore my underwear off.
I couldn’t believe I liked it.
With a smile stretching my lips, I opened the door to his bedroom, intent on finding him.
When I caught the smell of coffee and the sound of bacon grilling, I immediately headed in that direction. I stopped as I entered the small kitchen. He had his back to me. A mug of coffee in one hand, kitchen tongs in another. He was dressed only in the boxers from the previous night as he flipped the bacon and sipped from his mug.
“Good morning,” I said and slowly moved toward the coffee pot. Tyson’s head jerked, and he turned to look at me in surprise. “I missed you this morning.”
He gestured toward the skillet. “I was making you breakfast in bed.”
“Well,” I muttered teasingly, “that takes the sting out of waking up alone.”
His deep, rich laugh filled the room. I loved that sound. He had never been a guy who was quick to laugh. More slow to speak, quick to listen. His burst of laughter made me smile wider as I filled my cup with coffee and hopped onto the counter to watch him cook. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy cooked me breakfast.
That tingle of arousal began to blossom at the apex of my thighs as I watched him work swiftly and confidently.
“You’re so hot,” I blurted.
Tyson turned away from the skillet after removing the bacon and plating it.
“I am?” he asked and sauntered to me.
A heated blush hit my cheeks, but I tried to act nonchalant. “Yup.”
With a smirk, he reached out and rested his hands on my knees and then began sliding them up my thighs, pushing his shirt up with it. Well aware that I was naked beneath his shirt, I fought the urge to hide myself as Tyson watched the movements of his hands. He stopped when they were low on my hips, his thumbs brushing along the crease of my thighs.
“Hmmm…,” he murmured. His already dark-blue eyes darkened he looked down at my legs. “I think you’re hot.”
I chuckled softly and set my coffee mug down on the counter.
“Do you know how much I want you?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. His touches left me speechless. His lust-filled gazes left me breathless.
“All the time.” He leaned forward until his lips brushed against my ear. “Every second of every day.” He pushed against me, pulling me to him, until his erection pressed against my already wet center. “Should I prove it to you?” he whispered.
I wanted him to prove it. Again. And again. And again.
I opened my mouth to tell him when my stomach rumbled loudly.
“Maybe after I feed you,” Tyson said, stepping back. His hands left my hips, and I laughed when our eyes met.
“Killed the moment, did I?”
“Not at all.” He reached into a cupboard next to me and pulled out two plates. Then he winked. “I need you to have energy for later.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, teasing him, while he served our food and then took a seat at one of the barstools at the counter. He didn’t have a kitchen table so we dug in right there and quietly talked about our day and what we had to do. I was in middle of telling him about my job hunt and apartment search, hesitating on whether or not I should tell him that Latham Hills was at the top of my neighborhood list, when his eyebrows snapped together and the room chilled. His jaw tightened and sharp lines darted out from the outer edges of eyes as he glared at something over my shoulder.
I followed his glare to the television screen that had been on, but on mute, ever since I entered the room. Photos of three young women were on the screen along with a red banner beneath them that read “Breaking News: Another reported disappearance of a young blond woman.”
My heart pumped a beat faster when Tyson jumped up from the stool and darted to the couch in the living room where he picked up a remote and turned up the volume.
“This is the fourth disappearance in less than ten days. All the women were reported missing by their parents when they failed to return home after curfew. The last-known whereabouts of Cilia Metzer, the most recent female victim, was Harrison Street, two blocks from her home. It was reported that she was walking home from a friend’s house—”
“Fuck.” Tyson cursed and punched a button on the remote. The screen went black and my eyes went wide.