Page 95 of For a Goode Time Call…
“Cass…”
I gathered his head in my arms, wrapped him close, put my lips on his and whispered, desperate, frantic. “Trust me, Ink,” I hissed. I slammed down hard. “Feel that?
“Ohhh god, Cass.” Ragged. Still holding back.
I pulled up, drew a few slow shallow strokes around the tip, and then drove down so my ass clapped against his hips. “Like that. Feel that? Feel me take you?” I did it again. Harder, faster. “Feel me? Feel me taking you? Ilikeit. Iloveit. I want more, Ink. More.Give it to me harder, Ink. Let go.” Again, and again, and he was growling nonstop, pushing up into me, matching me, nearly. “Let go, Ink.”
He whimpered, a quiet, raw sound.
His eyes flew open, met mine.
Fierce.
Wild.
“Yes, Ink.” I saw it in him.
He grabbed my hips, lifted me so he nearly slipped out.
“Yes,” I gasped, tremoring with anticipation. “Yes!”
And then he drove in, and this time there was no restraint. Not hard, necessarily, but I felt him give it up, felt something inside him break.
He started moving me, lifting me up, drawing me down, meeting me with harder and harder thrusts. Our bodies slapped together, and I screamed each time our bodies touched, gasping in desperation as he withdrew.
What followed then were the most beautiful moments of my life.
He held my gaze and he let go.
He fucked me with total abandon, and it was intimate and surreal and vulnerable lovemaking, pure and wild and primal and delicate.
He surged into me, and I fell down around him, crying with the bliss of him inside me.
I came with him driving in, came around him, and in the moment of my orgasm, he unleashed. I felt him shudder, and our eyes held as he gave himself to me, nothing left inside to hold him back. Each movement was pure and liberated love.
When we finished, I fell asleep in his arms.
A day later—afterwe’d spent the previous twenty-four hours eating, fucking, and sleeping, and talking.
Fucking.
That’s what Rick had called it, what my brain wanted to call it out of habit.
But it wasn’t that, not anymore. This was new, this was ours.
Silly and saccharine and old-fashioned, perhaps, but I liked to call it lovemaking. Because that was the most accurate term. It was our souls joining. Our hearts merging.
Sometimes, though? It was just good plain old raw fucking.
And that was beautiful and intimate, too.
Today, though, we’d finally left the cabin. We were hiking through the forest, and I knew exactly where we were going, even though I’d never been there before.
His waterfall.
I followed him, my hand in his. He wore a shirt for the first time since I’d met him, and huge, expensive thick-soled hiking boots, and he carried a big backpack.
It took an hour or two of walking, but we reached the river about noon, and after another thirty minutes upstream we went around a bend, over a hill, and then there it was…exactly as he’d described it.
