The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Eighteen

"I missed this," he murmurs against my mouth. 

His tongue strokes and tangles itself around my own as he continues to move deep inside me.  Pushing against my insides so hard that I feel stretched to the limit, just on the very cusp of pain and pleasure. His size and how he fits so tightly inside me always makes every movement of him so much more intense. His movements practised, timed, perfectly in tune with my own. Drawing out my pleasure to a building, explosive crescendo. 

How Aidan plays my body never fails to amaze me, like it's an instrument he mastered long ago.  One touch of his fingers in any given place can make it play the most beautiful note.  One touch of his mouth makes me sing in pleasure.  How is it that he knows how to pleasure me this quickly?   It took Oliver months to learn that I needed to be fucked hard if he was on top, and slow if I was.  It took him almost a year to decide that he didn't particularly care.  

Yet, Aidan does none of the things I thought were necessary for me to enjoy sex.  Aidan had rewritten everything, and every time with him felt more intense and more exquisite than the last.   It's dangerously addictive.  It should feel wrong. 

God, I never want it to stop.

"You did?"  I pant.  He circles his body so that his thrusts slow but still hit deep inside me on each one. 

"Mhm, you're fucking addictive you know."

How strange for him to say this when I was thinking the very same thing.  Is he inside my mind too? 

I close my eyes and drop my head back onto the couch. We hadn't made it to the bedroom.  He'd pushed me inside the house and onto the couch where he'd peeled me out of my clothes.  He'd managed not to tear my underwear this time, which was both considerate and disappointing at the same time.

I'm sorry about that," I lie.  I want him to miss me.  To want me desperately. Since he was free to miss and want me, perhaps he could do it for both of us?

"Fuck, Eloise," Aidan groans as his body tenses.  I wrap my legs tighter around his body and pull him deeper into me, desperate to hasten his orgasm even though there's a chance it'll prevent my own.  If he hadn't already made me come with his mouth then I might be doing things a little differently.   As it is I want to feel him come inside me hard and violent. I want to feel his strong, lean body shaking with the force of it as he does.  "Look at me," he says, his mouth close to mine but not on it.  My eyes spring open and I stare up into his large grey blue ones. 

Like always they take my breath away.  So open and emotive and intense that I swear I can see his soul in them.  I'd never believed that stupid cliché that eyes were the windows to the soul.  People hid things behind their eyes all the time; I was a master at it. I knew it could be done and done well.

Aidan's eyes were the exception to that rule.  It explains why at this moment I think about his dead mother and the image of him as a terrified heartbroken child.  Wrong bloody moment, Eloise.

"I'm looking," I whisper with a smile, my breathing short and shallow.  I see the concentration and exertion on his face as he continues to fuck me, as he continues to fight against his climax. He brings his hand up and holds the side of my face with it, palm to cheek.

"Tell me how I make you feel," he says.  He thrusts harder and I cry out. "Tell me how this feels." He slides his thumb into my mouth and the salty spice of his skin explodes deliciously on my tongue.  I feel my own orgasm building, rushing at me, and I bite down hard on the soft pad of his thumb before swirling my tongue around it.  Aidan smirks a little before removing his thumb and drawing it down over my breast.  He circles my raw aching nipple before pinching it hard and bringing it to his mouth. He shifts a little and suddenly I feel his fingers on the sensitive spot beside where his cock continues to move deep inside me.