Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“Shit.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Condom.”
I reach down to grab my discarded clutch and quickly pull out the little sleeve containing credit cards, my license and, in a hidden compartment, a condom.
Taking him in my hand, I rub my thumb over his leaking tip, squeezing the slightest bit. His head falls back, exposing the corded strength of his throat. I stroke up and down, gently at first, learning the hot slide of silk over steel. And then faster, firmer until his hips jerk and the muscles of his thighs flex beneath mine. He mumbles something incoherent. I don’t let up, pumping his dick and bending to suck his nipples.
“In,” he rasps.
“What?” I mutter at his neck, drowning in the earthy scent of him, fascinated by all his male textures—rough, smooth, hard, velvet, silk, stone.
“In,” he says abruptly, clearly, gripping my hips and sliding me forward. “Let me fuck you.”
I slide the condom over the hard, hot length of him, and then slowly interlock us. The first time Ezra enters my body, the world cracks open. Tectonic. Like two plates of earth shifted, melded to make an entirely new plane. We go still in unison for just a second, the newness of a completely unique dimension comprised of his body and mine settling into place. And then we move, a slow, sensuous give and take of soul and flesh that makes us pant and moan and grind and groan. Our mouths open, gasping. He fills me completely. I press my temple to his and rock my hips over him. He maps my back, my ass, my thighs. I’m territory he claims with his hands and lips and the covetous heat of his eyes. And I take possession of him. Squatter’s rights, a field Aiko abandoned that, whether she knows it or not, is now mine.
He reaches between us, rubbing his thumb over my slick clit. The pace quickens; the need is feral. My breasts bounce as I ride him hard, one palm slammed into the wall over his shoulder and one hand squeezing my own breast with just the right pressure to send me spiraling. Another climax jerks my body forward until we’re heart to heart. He pounds up into me, squeezing, spreading my ass open and stiffening, the hard muscles of his stomach contracting. A moan wrenches from him as he empties himself. I grab his chin, tugging his mouth open, and lick into him with long, languid kisses that bob our heads and twist our bodies and wall out the world. The years fall away like a torn veil separating him from me, then from now. It hasn’t been years. There has only been one long day for us on which the sun has never set. We were never lost, and this place has always been waiting for our wandering hearts, for our prodigal souls to finally, together rest.
Chapter Thirty
Ezra
“Tell me about your first time.”
Kimba asks the question in the middle of the night. After we dragged our limp bodies from the mudroom and up the stairs, we stumbled into the guest bedroom and made love again, this time a slow, savoring union, commemorating what was the best sex of my life. I spoon her under the covers, pushing the damp hair, half straight, half coiled, away from her neck and ghost kisses over her soft skin. She presses her naked back into my chest.
“My first time?” I tighten my arms around her middle and spread my hand over her stomach. “It should have been with you.”
“Obviously.” She reaches back, scraping her nails through my hair. “But who was the little wench?”
I chuckle and push my knee into hers from behind. “Francesca Aldi. I was fifteen. She was sixteen. My first time. Not hers.”
“Where was it?”
“Rome. Her house. Her parents were away. She didn’t know it was my first time. I was too embarrassed to tell her.”
“Oh, Ezra.” Kimba turns to face me and rubs a thumb over my eyebrow and down my cheekbone. “I bet you were so dear.”
“I hope not.” I choke out a laugh. “‘Dear’ is not what a guy wants to be his first time having sex.”
“How was it?”
“I remember feeling deflated. Disappointed, like everyone had played a trick on me—convinced me sex was this amazing thing I wouldn’t be able to get enough of. Don’t get me wrong. It did feel great. Better than my hand and a fistful of lotion.”
She snickers and pulls the comforter higher over our naked shoulders.
“But I always thought my first time would be fireworks.” I hesitate and then tell her the truth. “I guess I always thought my first time would be with you. I don’t think anyone could have lived up to that.”
She nods. “Same.”
“What about you? Who was it? Where? Was it good?”
I want to know everything all at once so I can stop thinking of her with anyone else.