Page 74 of The Comeback Pact

No sooner do the words leave my mouth than West takes them to heart. The hurt, the uncertainty, disappears in a blip and his lips are on mine. Searching, softening, finding me there, waiting with everything I have.

In earnest, he shows me. He delves his tongue into my mouth, soothing all the torn edges of our story that occurred today. I wrap my arms around him, and he aligns our bodies, gripping my hips with a fierce protection. It’s as if everything he wishes he did earlier comes out now.

His body is a shield. A comfort.

His fingers flex into me, releasing and squeezing my flesh in a rhythm of what I suppose is need and trying to take his time. Leading me toward the bed, he kisses me senseless. The backs of my knees hit the frame, and I start to fall. He catches me, holding me securely as he lays me until I’m safely on the bed.

Standing back, he towers over me, illuminated by the bedroom light. He takes in my heaving chest and the way my knees have fallen against the sheets. His throat works. Ever silent, he takes his shirt off in that sexy way, tugging the back until he reveals his abs and chest and then the shirt disappears somewhere behind him.

He teases his fingers up the outside of my thighs, his rough fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. When he gets as high as my waistband, he pulls at it, forcing me to close my knees so he can work my bottoms down. He takes my panties with it, sparing me of them both with one movement.

Immediately, he zeroes in on my clit, rubbing the pad of his thumb across my sensitive nub. He cocks his head, watching me as my mouth parts on a moan. Framed by my knees, I can see what this is doing to him, the tent in his pants getting more prominent.

“Take off your shirt so I don’t have to stop touching you,” he orders.

I lick my lips, biting my bottom one a little before I raise up to my elbows. Still basking in the pleasure he’s giving me, I reach behind to unclasp my bra. My breasts fall heavy against me while I yank the hem of my tank up, grabbing my bra with it and pulling both garments over my head.

His gaze locks onto my chest. I lie back, gripping the sheets in my fists while he rubs his thumb in my juices and starts stroking my pussy, teasing my entrance with short thrusts of his finger. “Do you want my tongue or my cock?”

His gruff voice makes me moan. He’s really going to make me choose? What if I want both? What if I want everything?

He slips his thumb inside, working it in and out of me. I gasp for breath, leaving me no time to answer.

“Too late,” he groans. “I’ve already decided.”

He uncurls one of my fists and places it on my folds. I’ve never played with myself in front of someone before, but it comes naturally as he peels off his pants and boxers and starts stroking his length.

I tease my nub in short circles, making my hips come off the bed in pleasure.

“Let me see you insert your finger.”

Groaning, my toes curl. I rub myself in circles, getting closer and closer to my entrance. I slip the tip of my finger inside, my hips lifting up to meet me. My lids flutter closed, and I open them in time to find him using his precum to coat his cock, making it easier to stroke himself. I rim my entry, then push inside as far as I can go. “Oh…”

“I used to fantasize about you,” he breathes. “Pump my cock with images of you in my head.”

His words embolden me. I’ve never thought of myself as a sex symbol, even before my accident.

“I wanted you so bad.” His strokes quicken.

“Now you have me,” I tell him, matching with his rhythm.

He moves his hips into his fist, his eyes closing briefly before he grips his base and bends over. He pulls out a condom from his pocket and rips it open with his teeth. I watch him unroll it down his length, still touching myself, plunging my finger in and out faster.

He grips my knees, angling his body so that his cock nudges my fingers. I remove them, and he strokes my folds next, sliding up and down, getting closer each time.

The head of his cock slips in, and my body grips it, almost as if holding it there. A pained look crosses his face until he pitches his hips forward, pushing in inch by inch. I lift my hips to help him until he’s sheathed inside, hitting that spot that makes me cry out.

“West…”

He shifts, slow at first and then faster. His grasp on my knees tightens while I hold myself upward, awaiting his strokes. The punch of his hips obliterates me. I try to keep as quiet as possible, knowing that Sydney’s asleep in the house, but every once in a while, I can’t keep a lone cry from eking out before I clamp my mouth down around it.

Sweat appears on his brow, and then he moves forward, gripping my hips and changing the angle until he hits even deeper. My mouth opens in a silent scream.

I realize West doesn’t always need to use his words. He says his feelings in other ways. The way he holds me. The way he fucks me. The way his expression is equal parts soft and shadowy, as if his need is mixed with his care for me.

I reach up to cup his face. “You can let go.”

He leans into my hand, his eyes closing.

---