Page 55 of Falcon

“Mmmmm.”

It’s the only thing I can manage in between thrusts. He doesn’t jackhammer into me the way most men seem to do, oh no.

His motions are calculated. Slow but powerful. Sharp but soft.

The wet sounds of sex fill the room, and mingle with our sighs and groans, and to me, there is nothing more attractive than a moan groaning into your ear during sex.

“So wet. So fucking perfect,” he tells me, and I bask in his compliments. They make me want to nuzzle into him like a puppy that’s been told she’s a good girl.

I can feel the familiar tingle building in my belly, but it’s different this time. More intense.

And when he grazes that special spot deep within me, I dig my nails into the skin of his wrists and arch my back, chasing a new orgasm that is cresting the peak.

“I’m going to come. I’m coming,” I tell him.

He picks up his pace.

Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam.

Faster and faster until…

“OHHHH MY GOD!” I scream, shaking from the tip of my head all the way to my toes.

He moves once, twice, then stills, buried deep inside of me.

“Christ, Faith…fuck,” he moans quietly.

I can feel him twitching with each wave as he fills the condom.

He drops down with his head on my chest, careful not to put his entire weight on me, and just listens to the sound of my beating heart.

“That was…” I say, sliding my hands through his sweaty hair.

“So good, and I have a feeling, we are never going to stop.”

***

It’s dark in my bedroom, nearly pitch-black, except for the blue tint of the moon coming through my window. Sometimes a cloud will cover it though, sending us into a rich darkness that reminds me of times when I would build a blanket fort as a little girl. I’d lay in there for hours and read until it was too dark to see anymore, and only then would I go to sleep.

I’m curled on my side now though, staring at the beautiful man sleeping beside me.

Falcon is on his back with an arm swung up behind his head, only my white sheets covering him from the waist down. His face is so soft looking right now in this relaxed state of sleep. He’s finally at ease and there isn’t that wrinkle between his eyebrows like he’s in deep thought. His lips are slightly parted, and I can hear each breath he takes. It’s soothing. Like a lullaby.

I take this moment of privacy to really look at him. Not that I haven’t before, but it’s different when someone is asleep beside you. He has those muscles, the V, that apparently drives women beyond control, and I see why. It takes everything I have not to lean over and lick it just because I can.

He hasn’t shaved since he’s been in Savannah, I don’t think, because the scruff that was present the first day I met him is blooming into a beard, and I rub my thighs together, feeling the burn of the scratches it left behind.

There’s no hair on his chest, but there’s a line of it that runs from his navel down below the sheet. Now I know why they call it a happy trail.

His arm that is closest to me is bent at the elbow and his hand is flat across his abdomen, giving me a full, unobstructed view of his tattoo.

I can see clearly now it’s a dragon. Not in the style of an Asian dragon, but more medieval. Like Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings. The head is resting on the top, rounded part of his shoulder near his collarbone, while the wings spread over his bicep and the tail wraps around, coming to an end on his outer forearm. It’s a beautiful piece and must have taken forever. Before I even realize it, I’m reaching out to trace the lines with my forefinger.

His skin is warm, and so much softer than you’d think. It’s tanned from riding his motorcycle in the California sun and it smells rich, like his bodywash. My finger glides over the darker areas near the top and I can feel the raised skin of a scar. I want his story. I want to know everything about him.

He’s this perfect blend of harsh, soft, tender, and rough. I’m so fucked.

I walk my fingers along the dragon’s wing and he stirs, causing me to pause.

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