Page 99 of Play Along With Me
"It's already good," I assure him when we break apart. "But I'm happy to provide... specific guidance."
What follows is a delicious give and take, each of us learning the other's body through touch and taste and whispered directions. Jake is indeed thorough, approaching my pleasure with the same focused intensity he brings to his profession. I discover that he's ticklish just above his hipbones, that he enjoys when I scrape my nails lightly down his back, that the soft spot just beneath his ear makes him shudder when kissed.
I grab the length of him and mutter, "I want you."
He kisses me and says, "I want you, too."
There is something remarkably brief between us. The electric current, my nerves, or the excitement coursing through me. Whatever it is, I want to hold onto it forever.
"I'm on the pill," I say. "And I hate condoms. So…"
"Tell me to stop if you don't want this."
"Jake," I pull his face close to mine. "I want this very much. If you're not comfortable––"
He nods, muttering against my lips, "I am."
This makes me smile. I watch as he leans back to aim himself into me. And as much as I want to stare at his dick right now, I'm watching his eyes because they're already fucking me.
His gaze meets mine, and without him having to say a word, I nod. I'm ready.
Jake pushes into me. It's a fight at first because I haven't had sex in years, but when he finally enters and slides all the wayin, the sound that leaves his chest is one I want to hear every time.
"Shit. You feel––"
"Really good," I moan, nodding. I cup his large biceps as he starts moving his hips. My head rolls back as he thrusts against me.
"Oh, God," I cry out, holding onto his shoulders now.
"You are amazing, Audrey. So beautiful and fucking perfect."
His thrusting proves it so. He's working me up, and it's hard not to moan at his confession. He thinks I'm amazing? Moan. Called me by my name? Moan. He thinks I'm beautiful? Oh, God. I'm on the edge. And he thinks I'm fucking perfect? Holy shit!
I lean up to kiss him as he rails into me. I grab his face and admit, "I think you're amazing too."
"I'm coming," he says, using his fingers to make sure I'm right there with him.
Now I'm screaming his name, moving my hips with his, and scratching his back as I hold on for the best ride of my life.
I feel him release inside of me and that's all I need for my galaxy to explode a thousand stars under my eyelids. He's calling my name, riding the wave with me, complimenting me in every way possible. By the time it's done, he's lying on top of me, kissing my face a thousand times.
After, as we lie tangled together in his navy sheets, my head on his chest and his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back, a comfortable silence settles over us. Not the awkward quiet of strangers who've shared unexpected intimacy, but the peaceful stillness of two people content in each other's presence.
"Well," I say finally, breaking the silence, "your bed is definitely more comfortable than your couch. Tour highlight, for sure."
Jake laughs, the sound rumbling beneath my ear. "High praise. I'll be sure to include that in future apartment showings."
"You should," I nod seriously. "A key selling point. 'Minimalist apartment, excellent bed, comes with backup NHL goalie who pays remarkable attention to detail.'"
"That last part is exclusive to current occupancy," he informs me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
"Lucky me," I murmur, meaning it more sincerely than I'd intended to reveal.
Jake's arm tightens around me slightly. "Lucky us," he corrects.
I glance up at him, finding his expression soft but serious. "Careful, Marshall. That almost sounds like relationship talk."
"Would that be terrible?" he asks, echoing his question from earlier at the restaurant.
