Legacy (Page 34)
I GREET LANCE AT THE FRONT DOOR WET FROM A shower, towel twisted like a sarong around my body.
He's in jeans and a black T-shirt, flip-flops on his feet. He doesn't say a word, lets me draw him inside. When the door is closed, he kicks off the flip-flops, pulls the tee over his head. He reaches for the towel.
I stop him. The memory of being sick beside the road is still fresh in my memory. "I don't want to feed. I want the sex."
He smiles. "I think I can accommodate you," he says. He unzips his jeans, peels them off. He's already hard. This time when he reaches for the towel, I let him snatch it away.
The pressure builds. For him, too, I feel his sex swell, filling me.
Still, he holds back. He wants me to cry out for release and when I can no longer bite back long, shuddering moans, he brings me to the brink and over. With a single thrust, he comes so deep inside, I feel it to my very core.
After, he waits for me to grow still, for the heat to subside. My muscles refuse to relax. I'm reluctant to let go of him. He's in no hurry. He moves gently, lowering himself on his hands until our faces are within inches of each other. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose.
The question raises the hackles at the back of my neck. I put both hands on his shoulders and push him up and away. "I'm not alone."
An eyebrow arches. "Oh?" He makes a parody of looking around. "There's a husband I don't know about? A boyfriend? A steady fuck buddy?"
I start to protest, but he's hard again and he moves just enough so that the hot, wet friction sends ripples radiating through me. He smiles and rocks a little faster.
He isn't listening. He doesn't care.
In another second, neither do I.