Vacant Heart

Chapter Twenty

I feel a gust of his breath against my chest when I lower onto him, sinking down over his length. It's deep this way. I clasp the back of his neck, moaning softly when I rock my hips slowly, enjoying the way he fills every inch of me, a puzzle piece finding it's space.

His hands travel over the long canvas of my back, all the way to my shoulders and then back down to my hips. In my relief, my relief to be with him this way, I memorize the way he touches me, the way his mouth slacks or how his eyelashes flutter as his eyes roll into his skull, overwhelmed by the heat between us.

He's glorious, and perfect to me. His sufferings only make him more real.

He's no carbon-copy. He's no picket fence man.

There's a world within him, a world I haven't seen.

He makes my searching's, my knowledge's of the world seem insignificant.

I hardly live in my soul. He's trapped in his.

"Aidan," I whisper onto his hair, not allowing myself to regret, or sadden. His fingertips flinch tighter at my mention of his name. So I do it again. "Aidan."

Within seconds, he's got me on my back, flat on the antiqued cushions and he's buried himself between my thighs and surged into me intrusively enough that my hands freeze, my throat tightening in shock. I release the air gathered in my chest, and look at him, nudging my cheek into his hand that cups my face.

With his knuckles digging in the pillow beside my head, he moves within me slowly, absorbing the tension around us with long, languid strokes set to drive me wild and crush down any defenses. My legs curl around him, wanting utmost closeness. He kisses my face, clasping my chin tightly, forcing me to give him my mouth. I gasp when he inches away from them, and changes his tactic, sucking in a deep breath.

My back arches into him as his lips cover my ribs, traveling lower. He settles into his destination with an admirable dedication, driving his tongue through my sensitive folds with a guttural moan. My legs cage him to me, tormented by his priming, his fingers that spread my arousal over my lips, my clit, dousing me in my own lust. With two long, skilled fingers, he pushes them into my throbbing canal, which my body clenches hungrily for more.

"Ah, god," I cry softly, lost in the feel of his velvet tongue curling, circling around my small tender bundle of nerves, the tips of his fingers flicking upward within me with repetitive coaxing nudges to my cervix. He's consuming the lower half of me, fucking me rough and deep with both his hand and tongue.

Tension—sweet, mind-numbing tension—spreads through me, preparing me for the wave of pleasure he's ensuring I'll experience. My back bows. My fingers sink into his shoulder, and unable to take the pulsing pleasure vibrating through me, I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Don't stop," I beg him, urged to scream out. I can't breathe. Aidan pushes me into my orgasm, targeting my clit, and the groan he makes when my hips unabashedly rock into his mouth quakes through me, adding more intensity, bringing me higher, ridding me of my sanity.

"God, the sounds you make," he says, climbing back over me. I tilt my head back, sighing when he kisses me thoroughly, holding himself above me with a steady hand on the handcrafted loveseat. My eyes open when his hand covers my dripping sex, and his fingers tuck back through my lips, and circle my sensitive clit.

"Fuck," I gasp in shock as he smiles against my lips knowingly, his fingers working below, massaging my clit back to insane need. "Aidan."

The budding pleasure hurts. I'm still so sensitive, but he's determined to give me more. He looks down at me, watching my torment, watching me come apart with immense enjoyment.