Page 83 of Almost Enough
His thumb finds my clit, pressing and circling in time with his thrusts, and I shatter. The climax tears through me like a lightning strike. I’m still in the throes of it when Beau’s rhythm falters, his body going rigid above me. His fingers dig harder into my flesh as he buries himself impossibly deep.
“Fuuuck…” he groans, the word sounding like it’s being ripped from his chest.
The first warm pulse inside me makes me gasp. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt—intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Each throb of his release sends another wave of pleasure radiating through me. I can feel every twitch of him filling me up, marking me from the inside.
“Oh god,” I whimper, clenching around him, milking every drop.
He groans against my neck, his body shuddering with each pulse. I swear I can feel the warmth spreading inside me. It’s filthy and perfect and so intensely intimate. My entire world narrows to the weight of him above me, the fullness of him inside me, the warm wetness escaping from where we’re joined.
Oh my god. I’m ruined. Completely destroyed for anyone else.
The thought ricochets through my mind, tearing down every wall I’ve carefully constructed. This isn’t just sex. This isn’t just good chemistry or a hot fling.
I want to tattoo his name across my heart. What is happening to me?
I’ve never felt this desperate, consuming need before. Like I could never get enough of him, even if we stayed tangled together for days. Weeks. Years.
I want more. I want all of it. I want to stay exactly like this until someone reports us missing.
The ache between my thighs is already settling in, and I find myself wanting to keep it. Evidence that Beau was there, and he did this to me.
When he finally moves, it’s almost reluctant, as if he also hates the idea of putting space between us. He lifts himself off me carefully, and the second his body isn’t pressed against mine, I miss him. My skin protests the absence, already craving more.
He doesn’t even go far. Just shifts to lie beside me, warm and solid, his arm curling tight around my waist. I am so damn screwed…in every sense of the word.
“You okay?” he asks, soft in a way that feels like it’s only ever going to exist in this room, for me.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Everything inside me is warm and undone. I’ve been taken apart and put back together differently, and the new arrangement is better somehow.
When I reposition myself, I feel the evidence of our combined release undeniably present between my thighs.
I understand that some people might find this moment a little awkward. A little blush inducing, perhaps. I, personally, feel like I just won something.
“Well…” I glance down at the mess. “I’ve officially made an absolute disaster of your bed.”
I look up and catch the moment his gaze darkens as he takes in the aftermath.
“You have no idea how much I fucking love that.”
“You’re telling me you enjoy—”
“Watching my cum dripping out of you like that?” The words come out raw and primal, and his hand slides between my thighs, fingers trailing through the mess. “Makes me want to fill you up all over again.”
Caveman Beau is so hot.
I try to form a coherent thought through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, but my brain doesn’t cooperate.
Wait. Hold on. Is he…?
I glance down at where his hand is still between my thighs, then back up at his face. His eyes are stormier with renewed hunger.
Oh my god. He’s serious.
I just had two earth-shattering orgasms. Two. My legs are still trembling, my body is humming, and I’m pretty sure I forgot how to form sentences somewhere between orgasm number one and the moment he filled me up.
He’s looking at me like he really wants to go again. Is this man actually human? Does he have some kind of superhuman stamina I should know about? Should I be concerned? Impressed? Both?
I assess my own body’s readiness for round two. My thighs are shaking. My core is deliciously sore. Everything feels oversensitive and raw in the best possible way. I’m kind of a disaster but also…very interested in more.
