Page 75 of Not Another Love Song

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and he said, “Okay?”

She thought coming twice—three times—would have made her ready for this. But she still felt so tight, so unprepared for the feeling of him taking up all the room inside of her like this.

“Gwen?”

She let her eyes flutter open. He was hovering over her, his hair falling to curtain his face. His eyes were intent, waiting for her. She knew she could tell him it was over and it would be. But she didn’t want it to be over. She wanted it to begin.

She nodded. “Yes, please don’t stop.”

He pushed in further, and she threw her head back. He dropped kisses onto her neck until he was fully inside. He lowered himself to rest on top of her on his elbows, and she squeezed her eyes closed when he started to move. So slow. Dragging through her.

He was breathing into her hair like he’d run a marathon. Sweat rolled down his neck, and his hair was damp.

She strained upward to kiss him, slow and sweet. Her arms wound around his shoulders, pressing their chests together. And when he started to slide into her again, she concentrated on the music inside of her.

Aggravated arpeggios and triplets.

He breathed against her lips, hips pushing shallow movements into her.

A slow legato, like falling water.

She lifted her knee to his waist, and when he slid in deeper, it was better than before. He looked into her eyes to make sure, and she nodded. He picked up his pace, holding her leg to his hip, and it was unlike anything. She had no idea he could be this deep inside of her.

His hand slid between them, a slow pulse on her clit. The fingerpicking, like raindrops, she’d thought. Gwen turned her head to kiss his neck.

He pulled himself up, kneeling between her thighs, and ran his hands across her body, one thumb always circling her clit. She liked the view.

She stared into his eyes as he thrust into her. His hand was on her waist, pulling her into him. And Gwen felt the melody burning in her again as his thumb tumbled over her swollen clit once more.

The storm. The agitation.

Her walls fluttered suddenly. And Alex’s hips stuttered, his eyes closing and his lips forming words he wouldn’t speak. She reached for him.

Arpeggios and dancing voices.

He folded himself over onto her, and as his lips found hers, the angle changed, and suddenly it was very good. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he ran his mouth over hers.

A quick build to the end.

She looked into his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together.

Her legs locked around his hips, and her hands wound into his hair, and her chest arched into his. He kissed her as he pressed firmly on her clit, his pace increasing and his tongue sloppy in her mouth.

Gwen groaned, a quick burst of pleasure as her walls held him, a climax so delicate that she could hardly decide if it existed.

He cursed into her hair, burying his face into her neck, and quickly pumped into her, his hand holding her hip down. She listened as he came, sighing and gasping, shaking breaths into her skin. It was a melody she’d endeavor to chase for the rest of her life.

Her fingers drifted down his back, following the lines of his muscles and dipping in each vertebra. He lifted his head and stared at her, breathing hard.

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, hand cradling her cheek as he looked down at her, as though he was memorizing her face.

The tonic.

The peace.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Gwen twisted herself up in soft sheets, pulling a pillow more snugly underneath her head. It was Sunday. She could sleep. She should go for a run. But she never went for a run. She wasn’t even positive she knew how to run. She pushed her face into her pillow.

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