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“Fuck me, damn it. Fuck me with everything you’ve got!”
Water splashed as he rose.
The heat of his chest filled my back.
His hands gripped my hips.
Then he pressed himself against . . .
“Holy shit, mother fuck, damn it—”
“Such a potty mouth,” he crooned . . . right before slamming into me.
“Oh, holy hell!”
He pulled back, then held there with just his tip inside me. My hole puckered, gripping at him, trying to figure out whether this was the best damn thing ever to happen—or a world of pain visited by some sadistic devil.
He didn’t give the argument time, driving himself back inside me.
His lips found my neck, kissing gently as he held himself deep within. One kiss, then a second, then a third. My head lolled back, pressing against his, reveling in the pleasure of being one person with him, and feeling his passion filling my soul.
“I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything in this world.”
A tear slipped free as my heart soared. Words were not enough. They never would be. Not for what we felt, for what he deserved.
As if sensing my inability to form thought, his lips drew back, replaced by teeth, and the thrusting resumed.
“I’m so close,” he rasped between breaths.
“Take me, please,” I begged.
He reached around and gripped me, stroked me, squeezed in just the right place to make my hardness throb.
His thrusts quickened, deepened, became urgent and desperate.
His grip tightened.
My abs clenched.
He yelled out.
I couldn’t hold back.
Warmth filled me. Thomas filled me. I felt him living inside me.
And I lost myself in his touch.
38
Thomas
Wedressedinsilence—notin field gear or suits.
Throughout our stay, we’d observed the hotel staff, watched them as they went about their routines, noted doors that led to storage rooms or private passages. Finding the laundry where uniforms were tended was among our top priorities. Lifting two sets of trousers and shirts with an approximation of correct sizes was more challenging that I’d anticipated.
But we’d done it.
White shirts. Black trousers. Service aprons.