“Take them off,” I tell him as I rip my mouth from his. “Take them off, take them off.” I’m desperate now, my body bucking and twisting against him as the need between us becomes painful desperation.
“Soon, baby,” he murmurs, even as he sucks new bruises into my collarbone, my shoulder, my breast.
“Now!” I all but scream, my fingers ripping at my own pants as the ache continues to swell deep inside me. “I need you now.”
“Fuck. Okay.” He pulls away and I whine, my hands grabbing for him even as he yanks my pants down my legs and throws them behind him. Then he’s fumbling with his own pants as I watch him with hungry eyes.
His eyes are wild and his hands are shaking as he rips open the zipper. He doesn’t bother to take his jeans all the way off. Instead he just shoves them down enough to free his cock, then quickly sheathes himself with a condom he pulls from his back pocket.
Seconds later he pushes deep inside me with a thrust so hard and deep that it has me seeing stars, my whole body erupting at that first stroke. For long moments, everything around me goes black as the most amazing orgasm of my life sweeps through me. Pleasure ripples along my every nerve ending, robbing me of my ability to think, to move, to even breathe. And all I can do is take it—take him—as he thrusts into me again and again and again, ratcheting up my pleasure with each slam of his hips.
Before my first climax comes to an end, I can feel a second one building, this one even sharper than the first. It’s such a steep rise that it almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt, one I wouldn’t trade for anything. He’s close now, too. I can feel it as he plunges wildly inside me. I dig my nails into his shoulders, hang on for dear life as he slams me into the table so hard the thing scrapes against the floor.
And then Miles is calling my name as he comes, his whole body jerking and straining and shaking as he empties himself inside me. It goes on and on and the feel of him coming ratchets up my own pleasure, sends me careening up, up, up until I teeter on the edge of a second orgasm.
“Don’t stop,” I tell him as I rock against him. “Please, don’t—”
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Instead he reaches between us and rolls my clit between his thumb and forefinger. Heat slams through me and I whimper, lifting my hips in a desperate attempt to get more pressure. More pleasure.
He’s still hard, still thrusting, as if his release had done nothing to dull his desire for me. The thought turns me on even more as he surges against me, each thrust a little more powerful than the one that came before it. He’s moving me up the table now and I can feel the cool metal against my back, my ass, can feel myself rising and falling as he tilts my hips forward so he can go deeper, deeper, deeper.
It feels so good—he feels so good—that I can barely comprehend what’s happening to my body. To me. Desperate for release, I lock my ankles around his waist, let my head fall back against the table, as I sob his name over and over again. My whole body is wigging out and I’m spinning out of control—my mind, my body, everything that I am just opening up to him. Becoming his for the taking.
It should frighten me—should terrify me, if I’m being honest—and maybe it would any other time, with any other man. But right here, right now, with Miles, all I can do is open myself up to him and let him take all that he wants.
I want it to end, want to feel him empty himself totally and completely within me. I want it to go on forever, want his strong, hard body plunging into mine until I’ve had my fill. Until my body no longer clamors for his. Until I don’t know where he starts and I leave off.
His fingers dig deep into my hips and I shudder with pleasure, admitting to myself that I can’t imagine a time when I don’t want Miles—inside my body and my life. It’s a scary thought, and an intimate one. It should scare me but I’m too busy meeting each powerful thrust of his body to worry about it. Too busy chasing my next orgasm to care about anything but the incredible connection stretching between us.
“Tori, look at me.” His voice is deep, distorted, but so insistent that I know I don’t have a choice. Opening my eyes through sheer strength of will, I stare into his blue ones with their desperate light and blown-out irises.
The connection between us grows deeper, stronger, and I want to look away. Want to break whatever this thing is that’s so powerful, so overwhelming. But he won’t let me, his gaze capturing mine, taking me prisoner, even as his body does the same thing.
I can’t break away; more, I don’t want to. I’m completely, utterly in his thrall, and the only thing keeping me together is the knowledge that he is as vulnerable as I am. That he has no more control over his body—or his heart—at this moment than I do.
“Miles.” I whisper his name, lift a hand to his stubble-rough cheek. He holds my gaze even while he turns his head and presses a kiss into my palm at the same time as he increases the pressure on my clit.
I cry out as an answering wave of sensation rips through me, sending me over the edge for the second time tonight. I come with his body inside me and his name on my lips. And still he refuses to relinquish my gaze. Still he keeps me pinned with those magical, mystical eyes of his that seem to see all the way to my soul.
And when he follows me seconds later—his own release crashing powerfully through him—his gaze demands more than I want to give. More than I can give.
But as he collapses over me, his body seeking comfort from mine even as he presses me into the table, I refuse to think about that. Refuse to worry over the connection that, even now, I can feel snapped taut between us. Instead I wrap my arms around him and whisper soft, soothing nothings in his ear as we both come down slowly.
Fuck it, I think as he reaches up and takes my mouth in one last kiss. What’s going to happen is going to happen whether I worry about it or not. I’d rather stay in this moment as long as I can, living it and loving him, for as long as I can. The world will crash down around our ears soon enough. For now, I’m going to let myself love him any way that I can.
Chapter 20
Miles
“How do you know I like eggplant parmigiana?” Tori asks as she unpacks the dinner order I placed while she was in her second shower of the day—this one without me, as she insisted she actually wanted to get clean.
“I have known you for a year,” I answer as I open a bottle of Chianti to go with the Italian food. “And during that time we’ve eaten together numerous times.”
“But I only ordered eggplant once in all those times. I know, because I only eat it from Romero’s.”
“I know.” I tap the delivery bag that the food came in, which is clearly marked with the name, ROMERO’S RISTORANTE.
“You’re surprisingly observant for a tech geek,” she teases with a grin.