Page 12 of Sex Love Repeat

“They’re in my purse. I figured they would be useless until we got to the event.”

“That,” he says softly, his fingers teasing the edge of my lips, circling the edge of my sex in slow, tantalizing brushes, each touch closer but not yet there, “is why I love you. You know me so well.”

His eyes stare at me, dark pools of lust and want. While Paul and I talk, incessantly, often, about anything and everything, important or not, Stewart and I f**k our way through this relationship, our time often too short for anything more than physical contact. Sex is how we connect, share our feelings, emotions, and love. I stare back into his eyes, my eyelids closing slightly when he slides one confident finger over the knot of my clit, that finger effortlessly sliding down and into me, the small invasion a tease of perfection. “Look at me,” he breathes. “I want to see your eyes.”

I reopen my eyes, my mouth parting as he cups my sex, slipping a second finger in with the first, both of them working together, stimulating me in their movement, his thumb staying firm on my clit, soft pressure that moves slightly with each stroke of his fingers. He watches my eyes, sees the moment that the fire of my need hits them, sees the crescendo and burn of my arousal, adjusting the pace and pressure of his fingers in accordance with my want. I feel the curl of pleasure, growing in my belly, our eyes caught in a web of want, pulled to each other, my eyes barely noticing the sexy pull of his mouth into a smile as my breathing increases and I thrust into his hand. His other hand steals around my waist, sliding up my chest and pulling on the fabric there, tugging my neckline down till a breast is exposed, his hand gripping and tugging on it just hard enough to make me gasp.

“I want you like this forever,” he whispers. “Spread open on my lap, your skin in my hands, your pu**y hot and tight around my fingers. You are so f**king beautiful.”

I buck under his hand, my heels finding the floor and pushing off, my hand sliding up his pant leg, desperate to feel the heat of him in my hand before I come.

Blackness.

My eyes shut and I moan, my legs convulsing around his fingers, the strum of his thumb on my clit softening, whisper soft, stretching out my pleasure as I moan over and over again. When it fades, when it softly pulls delicious heat from every area of my body, the need grows. Intense, animalistic desire, a craving for every bit of him in every place on my body. My eyes snap open and find him watching, a curve already in place across that sexy mouth, his hand on his open fly, pulling out the object of my desire and stroking its hard length against my bare leg.

I push his back against the chair, stepping over his leg, straddling his waist and lowering myself down, my sex so wet it drips, my need so great I moan. His hands catch me, carry my ass down, impaling me with his cock, his own groan sounding in the large room, his eyes darkening as I tighten around him. “God, you were made for me.”

“I’m your dirty little slut,” I whisper, sliding up and down, my heels firm on the ground, his hands tilting and pulling my ass how he likes it, in a way that causes my clit to hit his pelvis, the tight squeeze on my ass pleasurable in its slight bit of pain.

“You are my slut,” he grounds out. “You need my cock.”

“So bad,” I agree. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He thrusts from below, pulling me down, the extra depth causing me to gasp, my body to grind, the pleasure shooting a spike of arousal through my core. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Again.” He thrusts, sitting up, looking into my eyes, our faces inches apart as I look slightly down on him.

“I love you,” I whisper, gripping the back of his chair.

Then his eyes close and he leans back, sliding his hands up and tugging the other side of my dress down, exposing both br**sts to his hands. And I know what he wants. I know, just like I know every inch of his body, exactly what he wants. I lean back, my hands resting on his knees, my back arched, my body open before him, and f**k his cock. Pumping up and down on his so-hard-it-will-break shaft, my legs carrying my body, his eyes opening and skimming greedily along my skin, his hand reaching forward and lifting the hem of my dress, strumming the bead of my clit until I come, body tightening, mouth screaming, world exploding.

Then he takes over, leaning forward and scooping me into and against his chest. My legs wrap tight around his body, his c**k stiff and slick inside my sex, he carries me over to the wall, presses me up against it, and holds me there with strong arms. Then he thrusts, over and over again, whispering my name softly, and then louder, ‘til he comes with a massive groan, his legs shaking beneath him, my own wobbly when he lowers me to my feet. He keeps me there, pinning me against the wall with his body, my br**sts tight against his tuxedo, his hands stealing into my hair, his mouth soft and sweet on mine. Drinking from my mouth, tasting me, taking his time, inhaling my scent.

“I missed you this week. I needed that.” His voice is gravelly, thick with satisfaction and truth. He tilts my head up, looks into my eyes, then lowers his mouth back to mine.

DELPHINE, W HOTEL

A-FRAME: [noun] Large wave with distinct

shoulders on the left and right side

of the peak. Can result in two surfers

surfing the same wave;

one going frontside

and the other going backside.

Two hours later, my fingers steal under the tablecloth, reaching over and gripping Stewart’s leg, sliding up his thigh, his hand catching mine, his eyes shooting a questioning look in my direction. He coughs gently, breaking eye contact as he glances to the woman on his right. “That’s correct, Beth. With quarterly projections where they’re at, there should be no need for additional debt. If anything, we should capitalize on our current assets.” He listens to her response, his hand firm on mine, keeping me at bay. But I need him. I need to feel his strength beneath my hand, to feel his arousal in my grip. When the conversation turns away from him, he leans over, plants a soft kiss on my neck, and whispers in my ear. “Do you need something?”

“Yes. You. Now.” It is an unfair request, one I shouldn’t make, but I am panting for him. I will not make it through this four-hour dinner, through the polite chitchat that will follow, cigars in the men’s club while I sit with dignified wives in the front parlor. I need a release, need firm hands digging into my skin, his mouth on mine, c**k inside of me.

He studies me, a war going on behind those eyes, his glance flitting around the table and then down at his watch. He leans forward again, close enough that I can smell his scent, the masculinity crawling across the table and robbing me of rational thought. He grips my wrist, pulling my hand tightly and places it on his crotch, brushing his lips against my ear as he speaks. “Call him.”

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