Punk 57 (Page 88)

I guess the nap helped. He slides his hand under my chest, cupping my breast and I’m already turned on.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I stare at his lips, dipping in for more. Hell, yes.

I groan, my eyes damn near rolling into the back of my head as his mouth trails down my neck, devouring me in hot, demanding kisses. He grinds his hips into me, and I feel the hardening bulge between his legs.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “I need your words.”

Talk? Now?

His hand glides down my bare back, brushing my hair and making it tickle my skin. He takes my ass, kneads it, and without thinking, I bend my knee to the side, opening myself for him.

“Before I met you,” I say against his lips. “I fantasized about you.”

“But you didn’t know what I looked like.”

“I knew you were Misha,” I reply. “That was enough.”

He groans, nibbling my ear and dipping his hand between my legs, his fingers sliding inside of me.

I close my eyes, the pleasure of him filling me making me wetter.

“One night it was storming, like tonight,” I tell him, “the lights went out, and for the whole evening, it was dark and quiet.”

His fingers come out, swirling around my clit, and I shudder. My breath is shallow, and I’m unable to stop my hips from trying to rub into the bed and his fingers.

“I reread all of your letters that night,” I pant. “I love the ones about when you got your first car and how you and your friends got arrested for the kegger out on some farm. You sounded so bad, so much fun.” I lean back, longing for his mouth again. “But the letter I love more than all the rest is when you told me about your ex-girlfriend after you’d broken up. I was so mad at first. You had a girlfriend, and you hadn’t told me, but…I think that’s when I first realized…”

“What?” he breathes out.

“That I wanted you. You were mine.”

“I was,” he assures. “It didn’t take me long to realize that I couldn’t talk to anyone like I talk to you.”

And I feel the same way. I always did. I couldn’t go out with anyone without comparing them to Misha. He had every right to date, and I’m sure whoever she was—or they were, because there were probably more—they weren’t bad people, but I still felt territorial. I knew him first. No one was going to know him better than me. I know I had no right to feel those things, which is why I never told him. Until now.

“I started fantasizing about you that rainy night. It was the first time I ever daydreamed about you.”

“What did you do?” He pushed his two fingers in deep, rubbing my spot and grinding himself on me. “Did you want to be her?”

I shook my head. “I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to see me and want me so much. Not just my letters, but my body, too.”

“What’d you do?” he whispers in my ear.

I moan, feeling a wave of pleasure fill my thighs and pussy, and I back up into him, wanting to be filled. “I laid in bed,” I say, “and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was so dark, and the AC wasn’t running. The more I thought about it, the hotter I got…until…”

“Until what?” He pumps my pussy faster, grinding his dick harder. “What’d you do?”

“I pulled up my shirt…”

“Yeah?”

“And imagined you were standing in the corner of my room, hidden in the shadows, watching me finger myself.”

“Don’t stop.”

“My skin was damp with sweat, because it was so hot,” I whimper, reaching over my head and holding the back of his neck, “and I slid my hand down my panties…”

“Did I like what I was seeing?”

“Yeah. We were always just friends. So calm, relaxed, and cute, but I wanted you to want me. I wanted you to see me and need to be inside me.”

“Did you come?” he growls low in my ear as I rock into him. “Did you come, thinking about me watching you?”

I nod, completely lost in the vision and his fingers. “I knew I’d do anything you asked me to. I’d let you have anything you wanted.”

“Is that true?”

“Anything.”

He removes his fingers from inside me, and I hear him unzip his pants.

“And what do you want?” he asks, his fingers gliding up my ass again.

I know what he wants. My heart is pumping wildly, and I’m shaking with need.

I lean my head back again, gasping over his mouth. “I want you everywhere.”

I feel his smile curl over my lips right before he kisses me. He moves his fingers between my thighs again, rubbing and getting me wetter with need.

“Everywhere?” he whispers.

I nod. I’m his. All of me.

I want him all over me.

His breath shakes over my lips. “Don’t do this because you think I want it,” he pleads. “I only want what you want to give me. I need to know you trust me again.”

His dark hair sits over his forehead, and his beautiful eyes tell me everything I need to hear without saying anything.

He hurt me, and I hurt him, but shit happens and love doesn’t change. He makes me happier, he makes me stronger, and he knows everything and still wants me. If he can say the same, then this is it. The real thing.

It’s us together.

My mom told me once “Life is fifty wrong turns down a bumpy road. All you can hope is that you end up somewhere nice.”

“I trust you,” I say, sinking into his mouth. “I want you.”