Erased vows

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I kissed him back.

With just as much hunger, expressing years of buried desire.

He took my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks slightly as his lips moved against mine with a fierce velocity that stole the air from my lungs.

I gasped, and he took full advantage to deepen the kiss, his tongue slowly finding mine, fighting for dominance and tasting me like he’d been starving for it.

I didn’t hold back. Couldn’t.

I slide my hands slowly up his chest, fingers clenching the fabric of his shirt. He groaned into my mouth, the sound low. I climbed into his lap without thinking, straddling him as my hands got busy with his hair. I’d spent years denying this part of myself. Denying us. And now, he was here, in my home, in my arms and the kiss felt like coming home.

He wrapped his left arm around me, pulling me tighter against him until I could feel every inch of him. A little moan escaped my lips, taking that initiative he uses his right hand to grab my butt cheeks. Nothing was between us but thin layers of fabric and years of unsaid words.

The kiss turned messy, urgent.

I tugged at his shirt, breaking the kiss only long enough to undo a few more buttons and drag it over his head, revealing his abs, warm and solid beneath my fingertips.

I took a few seconds to admire his features before his lips found my neck, trailing slow, hot kisses down to my collarbone.

My head tilted back as a moan slipped from my lips, and I could feel his warm breath against my skin..

“I want more,” he breathed. “Whatever this is.”

I hmmed in response.

“It is just what I imagined it to be,” he said briefly.

Our mouths collided again, harder this time.

I felt his hand move from my butt slowly sliding under my nightshirt, his cold fingers tracing my hips, my lower back, filling me with every touch. My robe fell open, sliding off my shoulders as his lips devoured mine, as if he were trying to memorize the taste of me.

He pressed me back against the couch cushions, hovering over me, his eyes wild but tender. Searching.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, forehead pressed to mine. “Say the word and I swear, Nita, I’ll walk out that door.”

How I wish he could moan my real name.

And for a split second, I wanted to cry.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I whispered the only thing I was certain of.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

He didn’t.

And for the first time in three years, neither did I.

Our lips collide again, but this time in slow motion taking time to enjoy every minute that passes by. His hands move towards my breasts but instead of grabbing them, he uses the tip of his finger to tease my n*****s sending strings of want down my legs.

“You feel exactly how I remember,” he whispered hoarsely, though he wasn’t supposed to remember something.

His lips left mine and for a second I felt emptiness.

His lips parted over my collarbone, kissing, tasting, while his hands slowly peeled my nightshirt upward. My breath hitched when his lips followed, skimming the exposed skin with reverence.

When my nightshirt was gone and I was left in nothing but thin lace panties, he leaned back just enough to take me in.

His eyes darkened, heated with something heartbreakingly tender. “You’re so beautiful.”

Raising me slowly so I can lie on the couch, I reached for him, pulling him back down to me, desperate to feel all of him. His weight, his warmth, his presence. His mouth crashed back onto mine and he pressed himself between my thighs, groaning when he felt how wet I already was.

His fingers were tracing the lines of my lace panties before shifting them to the side. He gently rubs over my clits in a practiced motion and his lips find mine again.

“You want this?” he rasped against my mouth. “Tell me.”

“I need this.”

That was all it took.

He slipped a hand between my legs, fingers brushing my wet folds, and I gasped, my hips lifting into his touch.

“God, you’re soaked,” he growled, kissing me again, then trailing his lips lower over the curve of my breast, his tongue circling my n****e until I moaned beneath him, arching off the couch. “I’ve thought about this… dreamed of it. Even if I didn’t know it was you.”

I threaded my fingers into his hair, tugging gently, needing more.

“I can’t wait,” he said, his voice tight with restraint. “I need to be inside you.”

He didn’t make me wait either.

In one smooth motion, he pulled off my panties and guided his middle finger into me, slowly at first, then another finger filling me inch by inch until I was gasping into his neck, my nails digging into his back.

He paused.

Then he moved.

The thrust was long and slow but sent fire up my spine, building with every pass of his hips. I met him, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist but with just enough space for me to keep up with his fingers.

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t want him to stop.

“Don’t let this be a dream,” I whispered.

He kissed the tears from my cheeks. “It’s not.”

His hand slides out between us before going in again, finding that spot that made me cry out. With his thumb rubbing on my clits continuously, my body clenched around him, tight and pulsing, building toward something I couldn’t hold back.

I could feel my legs shaking and my walls closing in.

“I’m close,” I gasped.

“Come for me,” he growled into my ear. “Let go, baby.”

And I did.