Page 64 of Love Songs

“Sexier in bed,” I joked—mostly—earning a chuckle.

I led us on a haphazard path to the bedroom. I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Couldn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t stop seeking every inch of warm, velvety skin as I tugged at his clothing and he yanked at mine. Articles of fabric—shirts, shorts, boxer briefs—dropped to the floor as we bounced off walls and crashed into corners like we were a pair of bumper cars.

After an eternity, because seriously, how longdidit take to cross a modest two-bedroom house, we stumbled through the doorframe of my room.

I guided him to my bed in the dark, and the two of us flopped down in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

“Turn on a light,” he gasped. “I need to see you.”

I flicked on a bedside lamp, and he squinted against the sudden brightness for a second before his gaze roamed my body, and an appreciative moan rumbled up his throat.

“Fuck, you’re so damn sexy,” he sighed under his breath.

“You already said that,” I teased as I sat back on my knees and slid my hands down his long, lightly furred legs and pushed them open.

“Worth repeating,” he said, taking ahold of himself and stroking slowly, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Hmm,” I crawled up the bed and claimed his mouth again. “I happen to think you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Meant to be,” he said in a hushed tone, his eyes soft and grin lopsided.

I liked that. No, I loved that. We were meant to be. Maybe I’d never dated anyone before because I’d been waiting all these years for Dallas to come along. I kissed him quick, then leanedover to grab supplies from my nightstand drawer. Leaning back, I stared at him for a long moment.

Fuck. How did I get so lucky?

“What are you going to do with those?” he asked with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Do you top?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

It had been a long time since I’d bottomed. Mostly because I’d never been one for much more than hookups and the occasional repeat. I’d never known anyone long enough, never trusted anyone enough, to go there. But Dallas . . . Dallas had been different from the start, and I trusted him implicitly.

“Yes.” His answer was a barely audible croak.

Nerves flared as I handed the lube and condom to him and dropped onto my back beside him. He kissed my shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent,” I said with conviction. There was no lie in my words, no lie in what I wanted.

“How do you want it?”

“Like this,” I said, tracing a finger down his torso from his collarbone to his navel. “I want to see you when you take me. I want to watch your face when we come together and explode.”

“Jesus,” he gasped. “Did I mention how fucking sexy you are?”

I leaned up and kissed him. “You can tell me every day.”

Because wewouldhave an everyday and I couldn’t wait to get started.

Dallas slid his hands down my sides as he leaned back and prepared me with his nimble fingers and decadent tongue, and before long, I was begging shamelessly for him, my thoughts scattered and my pulse racing.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice raspy and reedy.

“Yesss,” I hissed, panting already. “So many yeses.”

With a crooked grin and a soft chuckle, Dallas slowly, lovingly, entered me. He rocked in and out in slow short strokes until he was fully seated inside, and my stomach fluttered with excitement. With desire. With joy.

With love.

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