Losing Control(77)

It’s like he turns every inch of my body into an erogenous zone with his touch and my skin is barely any barrier between his lips and my nerve endings. The pleasure he’s delivering in this slow, measured fashion is indescribable. Even my eyelids feel prickles of sensation as the deep thrusts inside my body push tendrils of sweet delight to the surface.

And everywhere my hands touch I feel the power in his body—from the flex of his shoulders to the straining biceps that bulge next to my cheek. His ass clenches and releases with each downward drive of his hips. There's no urgency in his movements. It is as if he could fuck me forever. As if there is nothing more in this world he wants to do than enjoy the pleasure of dragging his cock along my engorged tissues.

All the while, his eyes bore into mine and everything in my vision is forest green. My whole world is his heavy, muscular body stretched and straining above mine. His green eyes are all I see. And his scent is the only thing in my head.

“Your body is so beautiful,” he whispers. “There will never be enough time in this life for me to do everything. I won't be done until I kiss every inch. Until I've touched every hollow and rise. All the public places and the secret spots. And then I want to do it all over again.”

His words are as erotic as all his touches.

He doesn’t allow me to touch him for long. Gathering my wrists in one hand, he pins them above my head.

“Let me give this to you,” he whispers and then covers my mouth with his. As his lips move languidly over mine and his tongue stokes inside my mouth, I shut my eyes and do as he orders. I let go.

I allow the stream of sensation to close over my head and sweep me away. And it feels so good.

He grasps my hip to pull me closer and the rhythm of our joining quickens and the spasms of my climax overtake me. My toes curl and my mind is empty of everything but what Ian has placed there. The release that overtakes me floats me onto an ocean of sensation as wave after wave of delirious joy buffets my body. I don't even know if he's come, I'm so wrapped up in what he's given me.

But his eyes have lost that fierce, hungry look and the flush in his cheeks has drained away. The tension of his body has been traded for loose-limbed satisfaction.

“Was it good for you?” I half-joke because it was so good for me that I think I’ll cry if this is how it is for him with every woman. Lie to me, I think. Let me believe.

“Better than I'd ever imagined.”

If it’s a lie, I can’t tell. His eyes are warm and full of affection. With careful hands he covers me with the comforter and strides into the bathroom, but his absence is quick. He returns with a warm washcloth and the bottle of antiseptic lotion. Sliding under the covers, he places the warm cloth between my legs, soothing my sensitive flesh. After he tosses the cloth on the ground, he spreads another thin layer of lotion on my abraded shoulder.

“I feel really good,” I admit. It’s like I’ve been drugged because I don’t feel any pain, only the lingering happiness following a euphoric event.

“I’m telling myself that sex is good for you,” he smiles and traces a finger down the side of my face. “I think I read somewhere that the endorphins released during orgasm help while you’re sick.” He turns over to place the lotion on the nightstand and clean his fingers off with a tissue. “It’s how I’m justifying my incredibly selfish actions.”

“If that’s you being selfish, I’m afraid that I will literally die if you become altruistic in bed.” I stretch a little and slide my legs along his hairy, masculine ones; the feel of his coarse hair reminds me of how wonderful it felt when his chest rubbed against mine. My nipples respond to the memory by tightening up. The sheets and comforter slipped down below my chest as I stretched, exposing my reaction to Ian who growls in appreciation. His hand hovers over my breasts and then drops down to drag the blankets upright.

“I’ll have to put that to the test in a few days,” he says, tucking my head against his shoulder. I let myself sprawl across his body, my thigh thrown over his and my hand threading through the light sprinkling of chest hairs before moving lower.

“A few days?” I whine. That’s not what my body wants to hear. “I thought you said sex was going to heal me quicker.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates inside my own body as if we are connected. “I said endorphins make you feel better, not that they make you heal faster. But I do know that you should be getting some rest so sleep now.”

“Alright.” My words are slurry because I am feeling drowsy. “But I’m not waiting a few days to feel like this again.”