Page 90 of Accidental Blind Date

And I don’t have to be told twice.

I take Libby by the hand, and we catch the first golf cart back to the room. Walking is nice but also difficult when your dick is the same consistency as concrete. Two minutes later we are hopping off the cart and running up the stairs to our floor. I fumble with the room key for a moment, making her laugh, and then it finally opens.

Throwing the door open, I pull her inside and let the door slam behind us. Not two seconds later my mouth is on hers. She kisses me back but then giggles.

“Something funny?” I ask.

“It’s just that we always kiss before we take our clothes off and it makes things a little tricky.”

“Alright. How's this?” I strip all my clothes off and toss them across the room. Then I undo her dress and tug it off before pulling her back to me. “There. Now where were we?”

We kiss again, slowly making our way over to the bed when I lay her back and take her in. “No bra,” I note.

“Kind of hard to wear with a backless dress.”

“I’m not complaining,” I say.

“How about now?” she asks as she slips her panties off and tosses them aside.

“Even better,” I say, my voice low. I want to devour her. I want to spread her knees apart and make her moan until the bed is soaked. But right now, I’m just in awe.

“Something wrong?” she asks with a smile, her bare body on display in the moonlight.

“Not at all. You’re beautiful, Libby. That’s short for Elizabeth right?”

“It is,” she says softly. Everything about her is soft. Everything about her feels right.

“Can I call you that?” I ask.

“You can call me anything you want, Daxton.”

A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I bend down, kissing the top of her foot. “Elizabeth,” I whisper, moving my way up to her knee. “Elizabeth,” I inch higher to her thigh. “Elizabeth,” I go a little higher, to a spot I know she is anticipating and then lower my voice. “Elizabeth.”

When I kiss her there, she arches her back and I give her the pleasure of one more kiss, with tongue this time. “Elizabeth…”

I make my way up to her navel, her hips, her breasts. I take my time there too. Then I kiss her neck, running my tongue along her collar bones before working my way up to her mouth. My face hovers over hers, and our eyes meet. Hers are alive, wild, and it’s like I can see clear into her soul.

“Elizabeth,” I say one more time.

“I feel like Mrs. Darcy.”

“You are my Mrs. Darcy. And my Jo Marsh. And my Ilsa Lund. And my Vivian Ward. You, Libby, are beautiful. And I want you.”

Libby runs a finger down my chest, and I watch as her eyes darken a shade. “So, take me…”

It’s all the invite I need. But I don’t just take her. That’s not what I want right now. I slip myself inside her slowly, gently, and watch her lips part, her breath emitting into the space between us warm and fruity with a hint of rum. With my hand on her hip, I glide deeper inside her, feeling her body wrap around me, inviting me in and I softly groan.

“You feel so good,” I tell her.

“So do you…” she says, her hand pressed to my chest.

I push myself deeper inside her, making her gasp, then slowly pull back out. I do it again, and again, each time watching her face flush, her hand flexing against me, her back arching to press her closer to me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex like this. It’s not something I ever thought I’d do again. Because it’s not just sex. It’s not fucking. It’s connection. And it hits me like a ton of bricks just how much I’ve been missing that.

As our hips roll back and forth in the same movement, the need builds up in us both and Libby’s eyes begin to plead with me. She wants more. She needs more. And I am going to give it to her. I pick up the pace, driving harder and deeper into her.

“Yes,” Libby whimpers and bite my lip with a groan before coming to my knees and pulling her hips up to me. I thrust in and out of her, faster, harder, deeper each time until her moans turn into screams and she cries out. “Yes!”