Die for You

Chapter 41

I woke to the most wonderful feeling you could possibly imagine, the feeling of Becky Armstrong placing kisses across my naked body. Last night had been everything I could have imagined it would be and a lot more. I had a suspicion that our first time together would be spectacular. As I woke to the feeling of those lips tracing patterns across my tingling skin, I knew I was right. My mind was filled with flashbacks of entwined bodies and passion beyond anything I had ever known before. 

It truly had been a 'fireworks' moment, and I don't believe in that kind of thing; perhaps I was wrong, perhaps I'd just not experienced Becky Armstrong before.

"Mmmmm," I heard myself moan as her tongue flicked across my nipple. I groaned again as her wandering mouth retuned to the same sensitive spot before tracking their way up my body before placing themselves onto my lips.

"Good morning, you," she said as she pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at me.

"Certainly is," I said, sliding my arms up her torso and onto her shoulders, pulling her down to me once more. "It most certainly is."

Wanting to take the lead, I rolled her onto her back, running my hands over that perfectly beautiful body, allowing my fingers to drift over her flat stomach before stroking her firm thigh, tightening my fingers in her flesh and gripping tightly pulling her into me.

"Oh, fucking hell," she cried as I took her nipple into my mouth and slid my fingers between her legs once again, loving the fact that I could have this effect on her. "Oh fucking, fucking, fuck..."

I silenced her with a kiss, feeling her groan into my throat as my fingers went to work on her, returning every touch that had sent me floating into orbit the night before. I felt like a virtuoso musician, playing a rare and expensive instrument, as I teased her through the scales to her climax.

"Jesus Christ," she said snuggling into me as her breathing returned to normal, "tell me why the fuck we waited so long to do this?"

I didn't make a reply, simply holding her tighter and kissing her forehead.

"We're going to have to get up soon, Freenky," she said after a few minutes of closeness.

"Yeah," I replied, closing my eyes.

"If we want to have breakfast, we should get up now," she continued, making as much effort to move as I was; none at all.

"Yeah," my only response.

"Do you want to get up and have breakfast?" she asked snuggling in further and kissing the bullet wound in my shoulder, her fingers reaching down to stroke the one in my thigh gently. 

She hadn't been kidding when she'd told me that she found tattoos and scars interesting; she'd spent a lot of the night when we weren't making love, tracing each and every one of my scars, each and every one of my tattoos. With fingertips and lips, she explored all of my wounds, asking me softly to tell her the story of how I had earned it before kissing each and every one of them 'better' and moving on to the next.

In those breathless moments between passion, we shared something even deeper, we shared ourselves; and for the first time in any relationship I'd ever had, I felt connected.

"I guess we should," I said as I felt her hand trace its way up my body, lightly tracing across my hip; she scraped her nails sensuously across my stomach, sending a shiver through my entire body. "Not that I'm all that hungry," I finished, chewing my lip as my body began to hum once more under that expert touch.

"I thought you might say that," she said as her lips tracked their way down my body, her hands gently pushing my thighs apart.

"Fuck me," I cried as her tongue found me once again, finding myself gripping the bedclothes as the sensation overwhelmed me.