Brenna

Shea and I stumble through the front door. His mouth moves against mine as we fumble with each other's clothes. The door slams behind us, and then we're kicking our shoes off. They land atop my discarded jacket. Shea stumbles over one of my heels, catching himself on the hallway table. His hand knocks over the vase, which shatters against the hardwood floor. Flower petals and stems, glass, and water pattern the floor.

I giggle, grabbing Shea's bicep. "Are you okay?"

He ignores my question and removes his suit jacket. He tosses it over the mess decorating the floor. The suit jacket adsorbs some of the water, but that's not what I'm focusing on.

Instead, I'm watching Shea loosen his tie and unbutton his white dress shirt halfway. Then he's rolling up his sleeves, stopping when they're past his elbows. His forearms are muscular and veiny. My eyes trail up to the smooth panes of his chest and faint dusting of hair. When my gaze meets his, I realize he's holding back. I can tell by the way he licks his lips. By the blazing passion in his hazel eyes. His hand twitches at his side as he raises his eyebrows.

Feeling bold, I remove my sequined top. The fabric falls to the floor, leaving me in my strapless bra and faux leather leggings. When I look at Shea, I nod, giving him permission. Tonight, he can do whatever he wants to me.

I want him to.

I need him to.

Then he's picking me up by the waist and setting me down on the table. We're a little tipsy from the margaritas we drank, so everything feels amplified, and when he tangles his fingers in my hair, tips my head back, and nips at the hollow of my throat, a guttural groan escapes.

He continues to explore my neck. His lips are hot and his cologne is overpowering. I arch my back, pressing my body against his, begging for more contact. There are still barriers between us, which frustrate me.

"Shea," I moan, tugging at his belt. "I want you to fuck me already."

His grip tightens on my hips and he steps between my legs, nudging them apart with his knee. Through his dress pants and my leggings, I can feel his impressive bulge. A jolt of adrenaline rushes through my blood. It's anticipation for what's coming—no pun intended. All I want Shea to do is take me upstairs to our bedroom.

With no warning, Shea pulls me off of the table. There's friction between us as my body slides against his. He has a few inches on me, so he has to lean down to speak directly into my ear. His hot breath sends shivers down my spine. Makes my skin tingly and warm. There's also significant heat pooling in my stomach, and the urge to have him inside of me is at the forefront. We didn't celebrate his appointment with the doctor for nothing.

The sperm count was zero. Which means we don't need a condom or birth control pills with shitty side effects. For the first time, we can have skin-on-skin contact while having sex without consequences. 

"I'll fuck you on every fuckable surface, Brenna." His mouth latches onto my neck, and he sucks, flicking his tongue against the sensitive spot below my ear. "The island. The dryer. The wall. I'll fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

Shea pulls my leggings down. They pool at my ankles and I kick them away. Shea doesn't hesitate. He slides his hands up my bare thighs until he's clutching my butt. Feeling his calloused hands against my skin is electrifying.

He captures my bottom lip between his teeth, tugging it, as his hand slides to the front of my thigh. Then diagonally to the apex.

He strokes me, a soft groan escaping his lips. "You're soaked."

I rest my forehead against his shoulder, closing my eyes.

And when he slips two fingers inside, my nails dig into his shoulders.

"Shea," I rasp.

He continues to work his fingers while his thumb caresses my clit. With his other hand, he lifts one of my legs, wrapping is around his hips. My lower back is pressed against the table and my hands are gripping it. I toss my head back in abandon, welcoming the feel of his fingers and the knot building in my stomach. My knuckles are white as I grip the table. 

Shea continues to touch me until I'm writhing beneath the power of his hand, begging him for release. I'm so close. I'm dangling over the edge, willing to fall. My cheeks are flushed. Sweat is accumulating along my hairline. Every muscle in my body tense, preparing for a mind-blowing orgasm. Because every orgasm he gives me is mind-blowing. He never disappoints.

Until now.

Shea removes his hand.

I throw my head back again, whimpering in protest. My face expresses nothing but anguish. "Fuck you, Smith."

He grips my hips and sets me on the table again. There's a glint of mischief in his eyes as he nudges my legs apart and... and drops to his knees.

A fresh wave of anticipation flows through me, making me hyperaware of his every move. His hands grip my thighs. His lips trace the inside of my knee and thigh as he leaves a trail of fervent kisses.

Pausing, he stares up at me and raises his left hand. His ring glints in the dim light. "Saying 'Fuck you, Smith' doesn't work anymore, Bren. I'm not sure who you're talking to. Me, for teasing you. Or yourself for needing me. Fuck, Bren, you're desperate." To prove his point, he runs his finger along my wet slit. "You're soaked." 

Sometimes, I hate this man.

Just as I'm about to respond with a snappy comment (we're not married yet; it's just our engagement rings), his mouth and tongue replace his fingers.

"Fuck," I gasp, gripping his hair.

Our gazes stay connected, and I watch as the muscles in his jaw work. As much as I want to close my eyes and give in, I continue to stare at him. He does the same, cocking at eyebrow as if to say, "So, you want to play this game?"

Without hesitation, Shea wraps his arms around my waist and I settle my legs over his shoulders. Then he buries his face between my legs. His tongue is slick against my folds, and when he finds my clit, the sensations are amplified. He sucks, strokes, and grazes his teeth against the sensitive area.

"Oh god," I chant. "Oh god, oh god. Fuck."

He works harder as he goes down on me, savouring every moment.

Closing my eyes, I throw my head back, knocking it against the wall. Pictures down the hallway shake, and I hear glass shatter again. My grip tightens in his hair.

The orgasm shatters me. 

My back arches and my thighs clench around his head while I buck my hips. His name spills from my lips, along with a string of curses. Every muscle in my body is fragile with tension while my mind tries to catch up.

And when it does, when I'm recovering in the afterglow, Shea picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. My body is too lax to function properly, which is why he wraps me in a tight embrace. He strokes my hair as we stand in the middle of the dim hallway. My forehead rests against his shoulder while I try to regain control of my breathing. Find my mind again; it's stuck in an endless cycle of bliss. And despite the amazing orgasm, I want more. Call me greedy, but the night isn't ending here. No way. There's more on the docket.

"How are you holding up, Harrison?" he jokes.

Chuckling, I kiss his neck. Goosebumps flitter across his skin, encouraging me to continue.

I bite his ear lobe, tugging at it. "I want you to fuck me. Against the wall. In the shower. Beneath the sheets. On the kitchen counter. Every. Available. Surface."

His face splits into a grin, and he carries me up the stairs to our bedroom.

When he pushes our door open, we're greeted with a cool blast of spring air. It smells like ocean, pine, and laundry detergent. The white curtains billow with the breeze, and moonlight streams through, patterning the hardwood floor.

With nothing but the moonlight to guide us, Shea lays me down on the bed. The sheets are crisp and cool against my skin, and before Shea climbs atop me, I prop myself up on my elbows and remove my strapless bra. I toss it to the floor, not caring where it ends up.

Shea pauses at the foot of the bed, swallowing as his eyes devour the view before him. He runs a hand through his hair, then removes his belt. The sound of hitting the floor sets me on edge. The anticipation is unbearable, and several dirty thoughts fill my mind. There are so many things I want him to do to me. Things I want to do to him.

He undoes his dress pants. They fall to the floor, revealing muscular thighs and a sharp V running diagonally from his hip bone to his pelvic region. Lower, I can see the outline of his erection through his cotton boxer briefs.

I swallow, remembering the night of the draft. The night we fucked in his hotel room in Los Angeles. After he literally ripped my dress off, and when I was worried he wouldn't fit.

I groan, rubbing my flushed cheeks while I recall that night. The emotions I felt, and the delicious memory of my body adapting to his size. There was little pain, just pressure and inexperienced tension. And when my body adapted... pure bliss.

Shea shrugs off his dress shirt, and then removes his boxers, leaving him wearing nothing but his tie.

My self-control snaps. Leaning forward, I grab his tie and pull him down to the bed. We're a tumbling mess as our lips meet. His mouth captures mine, and it's clear who's dominating. He's in complete control, seducing me with powerful strokes of his tongue and kisses that bruise my lips. Every movement he makes is precise.

After years of practice, he knows my design. My likes and dislikes.

Just like I know his. Like I know him.

My hand slides between us, and I grip his erection, stroking him a few times.

Shea breaks the kiss. His breathing is heavy. "Fuck, Bren. Keep your hands to yourself. I won't last long if you keep doing that. Your hands are dangerous."

I stroke him again. "This?"

He chokes on a breath. "Yes. That."

I repeat the motion, nipping at his bottom lip.

Shea grabs my wrist. "Fuck. I'm serious. Do I need to bind your wrists?"

My gaze locks with his as my thumb brushes over the tip. "Maybe."

He licks his bottom lip. Sweat coats his forehead in a glistening layer. "Do you want me to?"

Tangling my fingers in his hair, I shrug. "I'm not against it. What else will you do with the tie? Throw it on the ground?"

For good measure, I give his tie a tug.

He clears his throat. "That was the plan."

My thumb brushes against his bottom lip. They're swollen from our kisses. "Plans can change, right?"

His gaze stays connected with mine for a few seconds. Then he's pulling away, shifting to his knees and removing the tie.

Within seconds, he's back overtop of me, pressing my hands to the mattress above my head. I feel the silky fabric of his tie wind around my wrists, then tighten when he fastens a knot.

The headboard creaks as I test the strength.

There's little movement my hands can make, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. An anxious feeling coats the inside of my stomach. I've never done this before. Not even sure if I like it.

Shea senses my anxiety because he pauses. His thumb traces my jawline. "Are you sure you want to do this, Bren?"

My heart is trying to break through my ribcage. As anxious as I am, I want to try something new. Tonight is all about new experiences.

I nod, pushing the anxiety away. All that matters is the trust Shea and I share. Should I decide to stop at any point, he'll make sure we do. He'll make sure I'm comfortable.

The corner of his mouth hitches up. Excitement flashes in his eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Shea's mouth is on mine before I can respond. His lips claim mine while his hand explores my body; one hand balances his weight while the other fondles my breast. His thumb sweeps across my pebbled nipple, and a rush of pleasure shoots through my body when he rubs it between his fingers. It happens again when he focuses on the other.

Then his lips are trailing down my body, further and further south until he's kissing, nipping, and sucking my inner thighs. My back arches, and the knot tightens around my wrists, causing me to writhe in the most pleasurable way. A groan of anticipation spills from my lips.

His tongue sets me on fire.

 My body writhes beneath him, and I twist my wrists, tugging and trying to break free of the restraints. Goddamn him for tying such a good knot.

Shea's hand comes down on my lower abdomen, holding me in place while he continues to devour me.

He's ruthless and passionate, which is a dangerous combination. And his stamina? Forget about it. If I asked, Shea would do this all night.

But I don't want him to.

As soon as the orgasm is over, my thoughts are set on the next step. "No going slow," I rasp. "Not tonight. Please, Shea."

I don't care if I'm begging. I want him inside me. We've been waiting months to experience skin-on-skin contact. If he doesn't start fucking me soon, I'll lose my sanity.

Shea hitches my leg around his waist. His erection presses against my thigh, causing heat to pool in my stomach. Using his free hand, he guides the tip along my slit, coating himself in my wetness.

The minimal contact almost kills me.

Perhaps allowing him to bind my hands was a bad idea. He's such a fucking tease.

A moan escapes my throat. I tilt my head back, wishing he would stop. Keep going. I don't know. What I know is I want Shea inside of me. I want his lips on mine and our bodies moving together.

Shea reaches up and unties my hands. He nips at the skin of my neck. "You didn't think I'd actually allow this, did you?" His breath is hot. The tie falls to the bed, somewhere in this disaster of pillows. "I need your hands on me, Bren."

"Where?" I smirk.

His ego inflates. "Wherever you want. I know it's difficult to decide. Don't feel pressured. Blame my relentless workout schedule for this hot commodity." He gestures to his toned torso.

Snorting, I slide my hands to his face, cupping it. His stubble is rough, and it scratches against my palms. It looks ten shades darker in the moonlight's shadow. As do his eyes. 

"Do you want my hands here? Or here?"

My hands slide down to his broad chest, where I trace the contour of his muscles.

"Perhaps here?"

I guide my hands down his toned back, stopping when I reach his ass, which I grip, digging my nails into his skin.

He clears his throat, choking on a strangled groan.

I slide my hands around and down to his erection. One grasps the base. The other strokes him, teasing the tip.

He releases a haggard breath and presses his forehead against my shoulder. The groan that he expels makes me feel hot. Shea loves it when I touch him. When I pump him or brush my thumb across the tip. When my mouth is around his cock.

With my hands, I continue to rile him up. To tease him. I want his self-control to snap.

Several seconds pass before he grabs my wrist. My hand is still wrapped around his cock, and he's on his knees, towering over me as he growls, "Don't do that. I'm too riled up."

I shoot him a crooked grin. "Do what?"

I stroke him again, despite his request.

With a low growl, he pins my hands above my head.

My gaze flicks down between us. His erection is pressing against my centre. Then I glance at him. His expression is pained. A rush of warmth fills my chest. I love having this effect on Shea.

He's desperate, despite wanting to make this moment last.

"Do it," I beg. "Please. We can fool around after." I snort with indifference. "Unless you want to fuck me again after."

Swallowing thickly, he nods.

His gaze burns with desire as he lifts my hips and angles himself. My thighs lock around his hips, and my feet slide against his hard calf muscles. I take a deep breath and grip his shoulders, preparing myself. His muscles are tense and his chest is blotchy with flush as he guides himself in and sinks to the hilt, stretching me.

We both groan, freezing in place while we adapt to this new feeling. Without the barrier of a condom... my eyes flutter shut. Everything is hypersensitive, and it only worsens when Shea moves. He presses one hand into the mattress beside my head. The other holds one leg up, allowing him to thrust deeper.

"Harder," I rasp, lifting my hips to meet his. Sweat is accumulating across my hairline, my cheeks are flushed, and the build-up of pleasure is pushing me closer and closer to the edge. My nails drag down his back, leaving marks behind. The action spurs him on.

Soon, his thrusts are rough, deliberate, and quick. I grip his shoulders harder, moaning at the feel of him being buried deep inside me. The back of my hips hit the bed as his body slaps against mine. Each time he thrusts, the headboard hits the wall. The noise adds to the tension building between us, as does his heavy breathing and the sweat curling the hair at the nape of his neck.

He repeats the motion repeatedly, faster and harder each time.

And he doesn't stop. Not even when the orgasm consumes me and my back is arching and my head is pressing against the pillow while I cry out his name. Nor does he stop when my nails scrape down his back again.

"Fuck," he curses, dipping his head down. Our lips meet with euphoria and aggression. He devours my mouth as he thrusts one last time.

I feel him come inside me, and then he collapses. In all the glory of his weight atop mine, the bed stops creaking. The headboard becomes still. A breeze trickles into the bedroom, bringing goosebumps to my skin, and our heavy breathing fills the room.

I rest my hand against the back of Shea's neck, and the other on his lower back. I stare at the white ceiling. My mind is spinning. I'm lost in an endless afterglow.

Not using a condom...

I expel a deep breath.

There are no words to describe how amazing that was.

Shea rolls over and pulls me into his arms, pulling the sheets over us. They're a mess, just like the pillows, but we don't care. Our bodies are warm and we're numb from the afterglow.

He slides an arm around my shoulders and one around my waist.

"Fuck, Bren," he says. He presses a kiss on my temple. "I love you."

My gaze meets his, and I'm unable to speak. There's a soft smile on his swollen lips. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is dishevelled. Just like me, he's relaxed, limbs feeling weak and content.

I return his smile, resting my hand on his cheek. His stubble scratches my palm. "I love you, too, Shea."

He smiles and kisses me again. His lips are soft and warm, and they hold the promise of the future.

Our future together.