Page 142

I thought we had made love before. Those slow, sensual times in her bed. Now I’m not so sure. I think this may be it, because this time we’re coming together because of a burning need to express our most hidden emotions for each other.

Slowly, her sleeves come down her arms, and I feel her biceps, her shoulder blades appearing beneath my touch. The red shirt joins Ira’s jacket on the floor. She parts my legs around her waist and kisses me so deeply that I gradually forget the rest of the world exists.

Isn’t that what lovemaking is about? Becoming so involved in one another that nothing else matters anymore? Believe it or not, I stop caring about everything but the beating of her heart and the breath I feel on my throat and in my mouth. I don’t even care about her straddling my thigh, my folds parting more to welcome her leg against my slit. Gradually. Gently.

Magnificently.

Ira stays still against me, kissing my lips again and again, my nails tracing the outline of her muscles along her shoulder and arms. “How does it feel?” she asks, shifting slightly. “I can tell you how it feels on this end. Amazing.”

Not very descriptive, Ira, but as I said, I don’t care about that. “It feels amazing on this end too.” I tell her how even if we’re not inside one another, we’re one. Conjoined, unable to part. You hear those stories about someone who fits so perfectly within you that it’s fate. We both said we don’t believe in soul mates. Maybe not, but I believe in moments like these.

“I think I love you, Katie.”

Those are the last words Ira says before wrapping her arms beneath me, lifting my hips, and thrusting against me.

I think I love you.

I love you.

Rhythmic movements blissfully roll through me, but all I can think is that the one doing this – the one pushing my body to its limits and reaching for my heart – loves me.

Ira Mathison. The person I thought I disliked so much for so long. Over what? Her arrogance? A grudge from years ago? One so stupid and immature now? Shit, nothing like that is ever going to happen again with us. I feel like a fool for not going to her sooner.

Perhaps it was best we waited this long. Perhaps it’s a good thing I had my independent experiences, shaping me into the woman I am now in this moment. I’m still growing. I’m still changing. I’m still fighting the urge to meet my boundaries head-on and see how far I can push them toward the cliff of ultimate enlightenment.

Damn, this is pretty close.

“I love you too, Ira.” My voice is lost to the creak of my bed and the gasps in my throat. I’m opening up more, taking her deep within me and begging her to love me, love me some more. I want to feel every bit of her need for me. I want to capture her essence and hold onto it for the rest of my life. Even if we break up later… even if this really can’t be because of who we fundamentally are… that’s fine. That’s more than fine. I’ll always have this moment to comfort me on the nights I miss her the most.

My affirmation inspires Ira to thrust harder, faster, her love tearing me apart in an intoxicating way. If I thought it physically possible, I would want her to keep doing this, forever. I want this, forever.

I want her forever.

Her last kiss of the moment sends me over the edge. Between that, my legs spread around her, and her grunt of unfathomed love surrounding me, I break.

“Ira!” I claw her skin, my nails leaving their marks, in case some other woman has the immense privilege of seeing her without her shirt on someday. I want her to know that once upon a time, Ira Mathison made love to me. “I want you.”

She knows what that means.

Ira’s grunts turn into groans of yearning. My inner walls clench, urging me to come as I sit on the precipice of orgasm.

Just as I think there’s no hope of us coming together, she gasps, coming hard as immense pleasure hits my body and brain as well.

She holds herself so close to me that I feel every inch of her orgasm. We slow our movements until finally… finally, I relax into my pillow, this woman on top of me, kissing me.

I don’t want to let her go.

Except we can’t stay like this forever. Eventually, Ira has to roll over enough to keep me in her arms. My head rests against her chest. My thigh lays on her leg, my still spread limbs letting her sweat on my skin.

It’s a wonderful combination of feeling marked and in love. Ira isn’t my Domme right now. She’s… I don’t know what. My girlfriend. My lover.

“Have I told you that I’m sorry yet?” She kisses my forehead with the tenderness I crave.

I sigh against her skin. “I’d rather hear that other thing again.”

“What? That I think I love you?”

“Yeah. That one.”