Just like that, I’m lost in the feel and smell of him. He tastes like beer, but I taste like whiskey. His body warmth cascades down me and thaws every piece frigid from getting out of the bath. Eric is more aggressive than ever with his kisses. He bites, pulls and sucks like he’s desperate.
I can feel myself slipping. It’s so easy to give in to him, to his power. He commands the entire room with his presence, but this was so unexpected that I have no choice but to obey anyway.
He moves to my neck, biting and sucking while making my towel disappear. No longer cold, I’m burning hot and need him to stop the swell within me. I need Eric to touch me in all the most intimate places so I can get relief, relief, relief.
“Eric.” I finally find my voice and fight against the growing need within me. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me to stop if I need to stop.” He mutters against me. I’m thrust and lifted against the wall so he can take my breast in his mouth. He sucks hard and I gasp from the pain and heat of him.
“I—” The words die in my throat, because I can’t speak. I’m naked, pressed against a wall, with my nipple between the teeth of the man I couldn’t stop thinking about. Nothing within me, nothing, could tell him to stop.
He looks up at me with intense, heavy dark eyes. I have nothing to say but yes, please, now.
Eric carries me across the living room, his tongue massaging my nipple as he walks. My body illuminates under his touch. All I want is more. No talking, no thinking, just primal urges satiated in the candlelight of my apartment.
We bump into the couch arm and he sets me down, fingers digging into my skin as I move against him and the thickness in his pants. Eric spins me around and spreads my legs with one hand while the other cups my breasts. He draws circles across my inner thighs, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy at his touch.
He’s so close to what I need and yet so far. The perfect metaphor of whatever fucked-up relationship it is we have.
The firm head of his cock presses against my opening and I cry out in desperation. I don’t wait for him to tease or for him to find me. Reaching back, I guide him into me and engulf his cock with my wetness.
“You are a fever in my veins.” he grunts as he thrusts into me.
Our first time together, we had sex for hours. After every orgasm, we kissed and licked and touched until he was ready to slip himself back inside me. Four hours passed, easily. Not once in that time did he fuck me the way he is now.
The intensity radiating out of him spills into the way he loves me with his cock. Because there is no other word for it in this moment. It’s not a sweet love, it’s not a cherishing love, it’s dominating.
I’m a fever in his veins. The words send chills through my body and make everything heightened. I wasn’t supposed to hear it, I know I wasn’t. Eric Stevens doesn’t show weakness around me. Tenderness, certainly. But not weaknesses.
I reach behind and give his balls a squeeze. He stops mid-thrust and groans, his head to my back. His breath is heavy because as much as he acts in control, he’s desperate. And that is incredibly liberating. Sexy.
My hips grind against him and his fingers dig into my softness. He leaves a trail of hot kisses along the back of my neck and throws himself into me. I lose myself to the motion of our bodies. I stop thinking, stop breathing and just survive of the rhythm between us.
At some point there is a misstep and we topple sideways. He picks me up and presses me against the wall, his cock back inside me before I feel fully righted. This is more intimate than anything we’ve been in and my brain can barely comprehend it.
“You asked me once what I saw when I looked at you,” Eric breathes against me. Our bodies continue in a perfect carnal dance but my chest tightens and my vision blurs. I can’t hold out much longer against him like this. His voice tightens, like he’s feeling the same thing. “The answer is perfection.”
I am no longer Kate and he is no longer Eric. We are bodies of energy that fly apart and come back together as one.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ERIC
“So then I said, who do I look like, fucking Spielberg? And he said yes, that cheeky fuck! It was hilarious. Man, you had to be there. Next time I go to dinner with those boys, Eric, I’ll give you a call. They’ll all need someone like you on retainer, I’m sure.” David wipes his eyes, finding his own terrible story hilarious.
They all do. All their stories are uninteresting and pathetic. All their stories revolve around being compared to someone else famous, someone clearly better than them, like a massive penis competition. Who has the bigger ego? Who has the bigger dick?