I can feel her close to coming. She’s panting, her body growing warmer, on the verge.
“Oh my god, Blake,” she says hoarsely and I nearly lose my fucking mind. “Keep going.”
I do. My tongue plunges in, so tight, my fingers stroke and circle and she’s panting, breathless, needy.
She’s incredible like this, about to throw herself over the edge.
And then she goes. It happens quickly and I feel her unravel under my tongue, my lips, my fingers. She tenses for a split second and the world seems to still, tipping on its axis, and then she’s shattering, arching her back, crying my name.
I lift my head and get off the bed, standing at the end.
I don’t give her any time recover. There is no time. I’m that close.
I grab her hips and flip her over, then reach down around her waist, my hands so large against her, and yank her down toward me until her arse is at the edge of the bed. She stares up at me in a daze, and I know her cunt is still pulsing, the orgasm slowly abating.
Her legs go up along me and I grip the back of her thighs. She manages to reach for my cock, just her touch causing my eyes to close, the breath to leave me.
With a firm grip, she expertly guides me to her entrance and when I open my eyes she’s staring at me with wonder and need and then I’m pushing inside…
Losing myself.
I’m losing myself.
And I don’t care.
I groan, the fire building inside me as I push in to the hilt, the pressure reverberating through me.
She’s so tight.
A fist of raw silk.
So good.
So good.
And that look in her eyes, the way she won’t look away, it holds me captive as I work her, sliding in and out, deeper and deeper the higher she raises her hips. My body gets warmer, tighter, and that coil builds inside, layer by layer, until I know I don’t have long.
“Oh keep going,” she manages to say, her head rolling to the side, her mouth open and gasping.
I wish I could go on forever.
I wish I had her forever.
Because being inside her now is different. It’s not just fucking. It’s becoming something else.
I’m starting to know her in so many ways, inside and out.
My lower back tightens and everything inside me cracks.
I come, back arching, pushing into her so fucking deep as I grunt loudly, sounding more animal than man.
She’s coming again with me, her noises so soft compared to mine and we’re rocking together, joined, until everything inside me is gone.
She has it all.
I collapse on the bed beside her, the flannel scratchy against my cheek, and I pull her into my chest. Even though it’s early in the day and we have a weekend ahead of us, there’s nothing I would rather be doing than lying right here, listening to the waves, with her in my arms.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Amanda
Crazy as it seems, the time away with Blake actually seemed to help my writer’s block. Ever since we got back, the words have been coming a lot easier. I’m not only working steadily on Dirty Broken Bad Boy Billionaire (trying saying that five times fast) when I’m with Blake, I’m spending time with Phenelope and Luthwen when I’m not.
Ironically, I don’t feel the push to put my characters in a sexual situation anymore. If anything, it’s a sweetly romantic one, held back through loads of tension and unrequited feelings as they soldier through their fantasy world. But when it comes to sex, it’s pretty much the last thing I want to write when I have scene upon scene of my erotica focused on double penetration with dildos and sixty-nining and anal beads.
I can’t say that the increased productivity in our writing has led to a drop in our sex life because that’s simply not the case. We’ve just somehow found a rhythm and made it work. Apparently exhibitionism seems to be a theme. We made love on the beach, in the car, deep in the vines of a vineyard.
At least, I think it’s all working.
The sex is amazing.
But…there’s something else.
Something I can’t put my finger on.
Something I don’t want to put my finger on.
I’ve noticed it since we got back.
When we fuck, there’s this tenderness on both our parts that keeps coming out, wrapping around us like it’s second nature. When we’re done, we no longer just get up and go back to work and on with our lives.
We linger. We stay in bed forever. Just talking. About everything. Relationships, childhoods, books, films. We laugh.
We laugh a lot.
And each time this happens something in my heart aches. Because I’m experiencing everything that a relationship should be but it’s not a relationship at all. No one even knows we’re together, except for Ana, and she doesn’t know about the books so the actual whole truth has never been laid bare.
I want to be honest with him. But I don’t know how I feel and I don’t know where to start.
I really like what we have and I don’t want to ruin it.
But I want more.
Not more books, not more money, not more work and not even more sex, as good as it is. I just want more of him. I want all that he is and I want to be able to call it mine and dive in and possess every part of him. I know I sound no better than the possessive alphas in our books but it’s true.
He’s becoming something more to me, something very real but all we’re surrounded by is fiction.
We take a break from each other for a few nights and this is mostly my doing. I need to talk to Rio, need to go out and lift my head out of the sand. I need to see the life around me, the world that exists without the books and Blake. I need to know that no matter what happens, there is always more out there, even when Blake feels like all I need.