Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

43. All of Me

43

All of Me

Zack's lips were soft and warm. The first kiss was gentle, dipping our figurative toes into the romantic aspect of our relationship again. But the second kiss came quicker. Longer. Soon, I was fully submerged in making out with Zack. My body sang under his touch.

I opened my mouth and pressed myself flush against him. More , my bones demanded. Closer.

He sucked my upper lip and hoisted me onto the edge of the counter.

I hooked my legs over his wide hips. Something about being pinned between a wall of muscle and a hard counter made the fact I wasn’t wearing underwear all the more exciting.

He rubbed my legs and pressed his forehead to mine. “What do you want?” He might as well have been stroking my pussy instead of my thighs.

“All of you,” I said, rubbing against him.

He inhaled sharply. “Right now?”

“Forever.” My thighs clenched around nothing as he pulled away.

Oh, no, I was probably coming on too strong. I scooted back and caressed his chest. “I meant—”

“Forever.” He grabbed me by the nape of my neck and slammed into me for a kiss.

Damn. I fucking loved this quarterback.

We embraced tightly, then groped whatever was nearest, whether it was muscles, ass, or breasts. There were too many barriers still between us. I fumbled for his zipper.

“You first,” he said breathlessly.

“But I’m already naked.”

He smirked, then sucked his fingers clean.

Desire pooled between my legs. This man was going to be inside of me.

I kissed him, hungry and needy. He slid his fingers against my seam, and I gasped from the delicious contact.

Finally, the little wallflower inside me preened. I'd bloomed bigger and better than she ever could've dreamed, loved by a good man who'd

He touched me intimately, firm and confident. His fingers were thick. Big hands. Big dick, I bet. Even if it wasn't, I was so down for this man. Through staggered kisses and ragged moans, I caressed his jaw, keeping him close to me, breathing the same air, the same need.

He took his time slipping one finger in, then another, the stretch and pull driving me wild.

“Zack, please.” I rubbed my chest against his chest for even more friction from him and the towel. Every hair on my body prickled. My heels scraped the cabinet and his leg, desperate to hold on and release in orgasm.

The last finger standing, his pinky, brushed lower than the rest.

I gaped at him. Was he going to play with my ass?

With a satisfied smirk, he swiped his thumb across my clit and thrust inside me with abandon, but kept his pinky out, like this was the classy way to finger his girlfriend on her kitchen counter.

I swore and rocked against his hand. This damned marble was going to bruise my ass, but I was too far gone to care. I clutched Zack’s shoulders and tightened around him to let go of everything else. None of it mattered.

The world blurred in pleasure, in orgasm.

I shuddered and gasped. The overhead kitchen lights provided a halo effect around Zack. My lover, my rock star, my quarterback.

I was some kind of goddess on the altar of sex. Or connection. Love was a stretch, even if it tightened through every fiber of my being as I came on his hand. But I did feel this wonderful glow inside whenever I held him that had nothing to do with an orgasm. I felt it when he laughed, when his eyes crinkled around the edges or his voice boomed through the stacks. Something about him spoke to my very bones, threading my admiration for him with fiery passion.

He kissed me and eased his ministrations. “Are you sensitive, or do you want another?”

“I want more.” I massaged his bulge through the front of his pants with slow, post-orgasm satisfaction.

He leaned into my touch. His thick cock throbbed for attention under the fabric. “Here?” he rasped.

“Anywhere,” I said, and opened my towel-dress. My tits piqued in the cool air. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and arched my back for a flattering angle.

His pupils swelled to black discs. I was half-certain some sexy rock song was blasting away in his brain while blood flowed to his dick.

I wiggled my shoulders a little and smirked. Who knew I’d have this kind of effect on the quarterback? I caressed my breasts and asked, “Do you have a condom?”

“Yes.” He set his wallet on the island, then hurried to undress.

“I like the hustle.” I giggled, retrieving the packet.

“We waited long enough.” He yanked his shirt over his head, messing up his cropped hair.

“Yes, we have.” I smoothed the soft locks down, then cupped his cheek. He mirrored the gesture with his free hand, and a knot of affection tightened in my gut. I’d been drawn to him since high school: his popularity, his confidence, his loud voice, his banging body, and big dreams. Now, I had all those things on my own, to some degree. And he wanted me.

I didn’t need him for people to like me. I didn’t need him for security or orgasms or anything. When he looked at me like this, though, the warm glow in my soul was better than anything catwalk lights could do. It was like the sun itself had chosen me.

We drew each other into another kiss. I couldn’t get enough of the hard planes of his body. My hands wandered, as did our lips, sewing affection into each other’s shoulders, necks, cheeks, and chests. He kicked off his underwear and pants, barely breaking our rhythm of need. His shaft rubbed against my thighs, then grazed my waiting heat.

He hissed and jerked his hips back. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get the protection.” My hands trembled as I unwrapped the condom, then rolled it onto his shaft. This was really happening. His thick, hot cock was going to be inside of me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, bracing my legs up on either side of his hips.

I scooted closer to him and let out a breath. “I’m excited too.”

This had been a long time coming.

We smiled and leaned in.

With another kiss, he slid into me. I gasped at the stretch. It wasn’t just his size; it was everything. Pulsing need, burning love. He held me without thrusting, like being together was more important than orgasming. I’d never felt closer to anybody, and not just sexually. He listened to me, he thought about things, he cared more than anybody, whether or not I gave him access to followers, money, or my body.

I scraped my nails down his back, treasuring every flex under my fingertips. “I love you,” I confessed, tucking my cheek against his shoulder.

“I love you too.” He hugged me tighter. So strong. So sincere.

God, I wanted to sing, to dance, to fuck. Since he was already inside of me, I rocked my hips to combine the last two desires in one.

“Fuck.” He groaned and thrust upwards.

This angle, with my legs up, hammered his tip into the back of my cunt. My G-spot sent tremors of pleasure from my toes to my brain. I gasped and held onto him. “Do that again.”

“I love you?”

I giggled and tried to rock my hips. “Yes, but I meant—”

He silenced me with another thrust.

My brain whited out quicker than a camera flash. “Oh my god.”

Was it possible to have mini orgasms? Maybe I was so close because I’d already had one. Foreplay and love were a lot more important than I’d figured before Zack.

He smirked and gave me a passionate kiss.

God, I loved him. I dragged him closer with my sticky heel and caressed the back of his neck. More. Faster, I silently urged him.

He propped my legs up higher and started fucking me in earnest. His steady pace and firm grip turned me into an incoherent mess. “Zack, uh, yes,” I managed between fervent kisses. The top of his pubic bone kept smacking into my clit. I was so fucking wet. So warm. Pressure tightened my muscles until I could barely keep my heel on the counter. I had to cling to him. Enjoy the ride , I reminded myself between mind-blanking flashes.

All that football practice and lifting heavy shit must’ve trained him for this day, because he held me up and pounded into me with relentless dedication.

Our bodies thrust together in obscene ecstasy.

His breathing turned ragged, hot and wet against my neck. “I’m close,” he panted.

“Come, then.” I held on tight and rubbed my breasts against the light layer of furry hair on his chest. A delicious urgency clenched my cunt around him.

He slammed into me, pushing my legs into a borderline painful stretch. Heat flared amid our connection, bright and intense.

I loved him. I made love with the quarterback.

It was all beyond me in the blurred world of orgasms.

We held each other for a solid thirty seconds, willing our breathing to even out and heart rates to lower. It was nice in his arms. Even if my hamstrings protested. I resolved to do more yoga in the new year. After all, he was very strong. There had to be all kinds of new positions we could try together.

He kissed my shoulder, then gently eased back to lower my legs.

My thighs trembled and fell. I winced from contact with the hard counter edge. We didn’t have this problem in my dream.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I might need an ice pack after this, but it was worth it.” I sighed happily and laid back on my elbows to admire his flushed body. “That was intense.”

He tied off the condom, then threw it away. “Want me to wrap some ice in a towel so you can lay on it? I can also draw you a bath or get a heating pad.”

Growing up in a matriarchy really had its benefits. He actually knew some tricks to pain management.

As tempting as it was to curl up with my human furnace again, I peeked at the clock on my oven. “Don’t you have to get back? Your friend with the shoes might put a hit out on us.”

He rubbed his ear. “I can always say I got stuck in traffic.”

Or my vagina. I guessed maybe I was a bad influence on his work ethic, but cuddles were worth it.

I giggled and reached for him with dramatic flair. “In that case, take me to bed.”

Zack carried me to my room. We fell onto the bed and snuggled up, tangled in the sheets and each other. Sunlight streamed across our embraced limbs. My life had never been more beautiful than this.