Page 110 of Finally Mine
“Gloria.” All he had was her name, her touch anchoring him to this place. And that was everything.
“So beautiful,” she murmured. With one hand still gently stroking his mangled leg, she reached into his boxer briefs and brought her mouth to his cock.
His heart shattered into a thousand tiny slivers that carved his chest open. Light and heat rushed in like a door flying open on a summer day.
She was touching him with love, with lust. Everything he worried he wasn’t worthy of.
“Is this okay?” she asked again, her breath hot on the crown of his dick. He ached for more. More softness, more words, more of her beautiful mouth.
Aldo nodded. He slipped his hands into her hair, gently rubbing her scalp as those magical lips closed around the tip of his erection again.
Fuck.The pleasure from her mouth taking him in one inch at a time was going to break him. This wasn’t sex. This was a spiritual experience. Two souls opening to one another, the most vulnerable they could be. Together.
She was an angel. Absolving him of his pain. She welcomed him to a place where there was only room for pleasure and awe as two bodies worshipped each other.
Gloria moaned as his hands stroked her neck, her shoulders. He needed to honor her, to touch her, to give her pleasure with every touch. There were dark fingerprints on her that she was trusting him to erase. He wouldn’t take that responsibility lightly.
Keeping one hand on his knee, Gloria used her free hand to grip him at the root of his thick cock, pumping.
A fire lit in his balls as they tensed and pulled up against him. If he didn’t stop it now, it would turn into a raging wildfire. Aldo was so far from being done with her. He had a decade’s worth of fantasies stored up. So much pleasure to give.
Her head bobbed between his legs, and Aldo’s eyes rolled back in his head. Tongue and teeth and lips were being used against him as weapons of destruction. “Gloria,” he growled. When she didn’t listen, when she continued her measured torture, he slid his hands under her arms and pulled her up.
His hard-on popped free of her mouth and immediately began to ache for more of Gloria’s touch.
“I want you in bed,” he confessed.
“Okay.”
“I can’t walk there,” he told her, eyes sliding to his prosthesis.
“Lean on me.” She stood, offering him her hand. When he stood, when she slid her shoulder under his arm and he placed his weight on her, he knew humility.
The walk to the bed was short, and once they arrived, Gloria seemed to not know what to do next. He kissed her, long and deep, tasting her, teasing her. “Lay on the bed, beautiful.”
She did as she was told, reclining dead center on the mattress. He watched her as he undressed. Pulling his shirt off over his head. He balanced on his good leg and slid his boxer briefs down.
Her gasp. Her earthy, lusty, glazed-eye delight kindled a desire in him so powerful that he didn’t care if he didn’t survive it. He would do whatever was in his power to please her. To heal her the way she was healing him.
“Oh my God. You’re perfection,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “You look at me like…like I’m something incredible,” he said, sliding onto the mattress. He lifted her feet in his hands, kissed her ankles. “You look at me like I’m a hero.”
“You are, Aldo. You’re my hero.”
He slid the straps of her sexy as fuck shoes off and gently removed them, brushing kisses over the arches of her feet. She moaned, and it was a symphony to his ears.
Aldo started on her pants next. He unhooked the clasp, slid the zipper down, and gently tugged them from her body one leg at a time. Dear God. The peekaboo black lace under her shirt matched what was under her pants. Scraps barely obscuring the skin beneath. He’d hardly touched her, and already he was certain she’d taken him to heaven.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Gloria. So fucking everything to me.”
He let his fingers, big, blunt instruments, stroke over the flat of her stomach, the gentle curves of her hips, enjoying the tease of lace that acted as speedbumps. Warning him to slow down and savor what was beneath.
Her breath was shallow. “I can’t catch my breath, Aldo.”
He paused, thumbs resting under her belly button while his palms splayed out over her stomach and waist. His cock hung heavily, dipping toward that black lace between her spread legs.
She had scars, too. Tiny ones, silvered with age. Symbols of trauma survived. Adversity conquered. And a tattoo that marked her victory. She was his hero.
