Page 66 of Old Fashioned
I kept my eyes on hers, my tongue flicking her clit, and in one thrust, I pushed two fingers deep inside her.
She arched in a mixture of pleasure and pain, flying back down on the bed and gripping the sheets. She twisted them wildly as I curved my fingers inside her, holding back the screams I knew she wanted to let loose so we didn’t wake Paige. Her hand pressing the back of my head more into her and her legs shaking around it told me what her screams couldn’t, and I kept pace, flicking and flexing and pushing in and out until her entire body erupted into an earthquake of trembles, her breaths short and loud, climax ripping through her.
She collapsed in a heap on the bed as I slowly withdrew my fingers, kissing my way up her body until I found her mouth. Sydney held my lips to hers, the kiss hard and desperate and appreciative, and then she bit my lower lip as I stifled a moan.
“Take these off,” she whispered, tugging on my athletic pants, and I stood, eagerly answering her plea.
I peeled my long-sleeve shirt over my head, making quick work of my pants and briefs next, all while keeping my gaze locked on hers. Sydney tugged her sports bra over her head, too, and then crawled back until her head was on the pillows, and we both sighed in relief when I was on top of her, sliding between her legs, our bodies hot and slick where they met.
I was already lined up at her entrance, and all it would take was a flex of my hips to bury myself inside her. But we both paused, our breaths heavy and loud as Sydney ran her fingers back through my hair, and I held my weight on my elbows, balancing over her, our eyes searching each other’s.
Everything that existed in the fundamental part of who I was screamed for me to tell her I loved her.
It echoed like my body was a chamber, like if each cell yelled loud enough, Sydney would hear it whether the actual words came or not.
And maybe she did.
Maybe she understood, as her brows bent together, and her lips parted, and she lifted her head off those pillows enough to connect her mouth to mine. Maybe she knew it all along, and that kiss was quieting me, as if to tell me I didn’t need to speak it out loud at all.
Maybe she felt it, too, as her thighs tightened around me, and she pressed her forehead to mine, our breaths hot and heavy where they danced between our lips. Maybe our bodies and souls were having entire conversations without a single whisper as her heels gently dug into the back of my thighs, urging me on, begging me to push inside her.
And when I did, the rubber band of energy around us warped, stretching to its max before it snapped back with a pop that had us both letting out a shaky, longing sigh.
Sydney’s hands pulled and gripped, her nails scratching and digging, as if she couldn’t get me close enough, like any centimeter of distance was too much. And I worked between her legs, pulsing, in and out, my lips on her neck, her breasts, her chin and jaw before we were kissing again, the pressure crushing.
I came with my mouth fastened to hers, and she rolled her body in time with mine, taking my release inside her without either of us slowing. Even when I was spent, when every drop was spilled and my body ached to collapse, I continued, slowing my pace but staying inside her with our kiss just as demanding as before.
I love you.
I want you.
Be with me.
Those words were never spoken, but they rang loudly through that room as if the walls had come alive long enough to say them for us.
We were slick, fastened together from lips to chest to hips, and still, I moved, flexing in and out of her until I started to get hard again, and Sydney rolled me onto my back. She straddled me with her hands on my chest, and took control, easing us into round two before round one had even fully ended.
Until the night turned to morning and I had to sneak out of her house, we made love.
And for the first time in my life, I understood the meaning of that phrase.
Jordan
“I cannot believethisis what you wanted to do for your bachelor party,” Logan said the next night, looking around the old treehouse our father built when we were kids. It was out in the middle of nowhere, in an oak tree by the creek. Each corner of it was decorated differently, reflecting what our interests were at those ages, and we sat in our respected areas. “I mean, it’s your last night as a free man. Shouldn’t we have taken you to Nashville? Hit up some live music bars and some strip clubs?”
Mikey stopped where he’d been strumming on his guitar, cutting out the sound with a thump of his hand on the shell. His corner of the treehouse had been filled with music, even though he was only around six when Dad built it. Even then, we all knew Mikey would be a musician.
“To be fair, I’m still underage. I’d bet it’s my fault we aren’t out at the clubs.”
“Nah,” Noah said, clapping our youngest brother on his shoulder before he kicked back on his bean bag again. He rested his hands behind his head, looking up at the makeshift constellations Dad had made him on the ceiling. His area was filled with maps and sailboats, a reflection of his dream at the time to sail around the world.
I wondered if it was still a dream, if maybe he and Ruby Grace would do it together one day.
“It’s not you, Mikey,” he continued, his eyes still on the ceiling. “I wanted something low key. I mean, to be honest, I don’t consider this the last night of me being afree man. The truth is, my heart was taken off the market the moment I met Ruby Grace.”
Logan smiled at that.
“If anything, this is my last night of a chapter I’m excited to end. I think my real freedom, my real life starts when I marry that woman tomorrow.”
