His knees buckled.
Maurice’s mind wasn’t blank. It was filled with Monique and only her. The feel of her, the taste of her. Her scent. Nothing in his life had ever felt like this.
In a flash of lucidity, he realized he was lying across the bed, and Monique was on top of him.
God. He was on fire. Melting from the inside out.
As if she’d sensed it, Monique began unbuttoning his shirt. Her short nails grazed the flesh over his heart. A deep tremor wracked his body. His hands moved to grip her meaty thigh and bring it over his hip. She was straddling him now. Her heat pressed so heavy against his erection. He would surely combust, leaving only an indentation of ash where he lay.
But he couldn’t find it in him to worry. He wanted more of this feeling. Of her body on his in this way. His hands on her skin somehow urged her to consume him more.
Maurice lost his breath, not from the intensity of their kisses, but from Monique rocking her hips against his. He pulled his mouth from hers and gripped her waist, pressing her down to hold her still.
“Hold on,” he said, chest heaving.
Her mouth was slack and her eyes glassy, as if she were in a trance as her hips continued to move over him despite his hold.
The knot in his lower belly twisted tighter and tighter. He worried that something inside of him would snap from the tension. Would he recover? This sensation—terrifying. But witnessing her like this? Exhilarating.
She continued to move. More insistent. Her heat thunk-thunking against his to a beat that only Monique heard.
A strap of her pretty blue bra slipped from her shoulder, causing the material that covered her breast to go slack. Each stroke revealed more of her dark nipple. His mouth watered.
On instinct, he leaned forward and took her nipple, fabric and all, into his suddenly hungry mouth.
“Oh God. Right there,” she said in a way that sounded as if she’d been lost and suddenly discovered the way.
He clamped down harder, and the pace and rhythm of her hips grinding against his sped into a frenzy.
She screamed his name.
Surprised, he released her breast and her hips. He watched her skin prickle and her head fall back. He watched how her back arched, presenting her full breasts to him. He reached up and brushed his thumb over her damp nipple, and she cried out.
The knot in his belly snapped, spilling more heat between them.
Monique moaned and slowed her movements. She leaned forward, rubbing her nose against his neck as he shuddered, and his heart rate slowed from a gallop to a gentle trot, and the pounding behind his zipper eased.
“Fuck…” Monique said, rolling off him.
He lay there boneless, eyes never leaving her as she sat up and turned her back to him. Slowly, she pulled the fallen bra strap up her arm and curled in on herself. He knew that posture and hated it.
She was still beautiful, though.
He pulled himself to sit up, his lap rapidly cooling to an uncomfortable awareness of what just happened. Tentatively, his finger stretched toward her spine. She froze at the contact, still not looking at him. He whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for not being more of a gentleman. Sorry for letting lust get the better of him. Sorry for not being smoother. Sorry for being unaware and inexperienced. Sorry for the mixed signals. Sorry for touching her without permission. But he wasn’t sorry for wanting her like he did
Now that he could admit his desire to himself, he’d never apologize for wanting her.
“I should be the one apologizing to you…” She still wouldn’t look at him. “I don’t know what came over me.” She stood up, and Maurice felt that stirring in his belly upon seeing the blue fabric against the expansive, creamy brown skin of her backside. That knot found a way to retie itself.
“We’re adults—” he started, shakily, but Monique let out an incredulous laugh that silenced whatever excuse he was trying to come up with.
“Adults grinding like a couple of teenagers who just figured out what a clit can do.” She turned to him then, eyes roaming his body, from his flayed shirt to his cream-colored linen pants that were probably showing the proof of what currently had his underwear glued to his skin. A smirk pulled at her lips, and a warmth spread through his chest.
He looked her over too. The blue of her underwear looked magical against her deep brown skin. Where he had sucked her breast, the color was more navy than royal blue. His eyes rested on her breasts again.
He had never been one to look at dirty magazines or even ogle video vixens and whatnot. Sure, there had been access to those materials in prison, but Maurice charged his longstanding disinterest in being the latest of bloomers. Now that he met Monique, he had nothing but interest. She fascinated him. The way she held her chin with unfaltering confidence, like she knew where she stood was sacred, simply because she had chosen to stand there. How her skin sparkling against the soft lamplight made her seem otherworldly. She was just different.