Whenever we're together, there comes a moment when we can't stand not being part of each other for one second longer. It's like we're racing against the clock, full of savage anticipation and grasping, desperate need.
That's where we are right now, both so full of tension and impatience, we're rough and animalistic. Everything that stands in the way of us being joined is automatically the enemy. Cassie scrapes her fingernails against my hip when she helps pull off my boxer-briefs. I feel fabric tear, but I don't slow down. As soon as we're both naked, I pull her to the edge of the table and look down as I guide myself inside her.
Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck.
I drop my head and sigh.
Sweet, throbbing relief.
I frown in concentration while pushing in further. What I said earlier about never getting tired of seeing Cassie take me in her mouth? It goes double for watching myself disappear inside her. Quadruple for the look she gets as I fill her. No matter how often we do it, or how long it lasts, making love to Cassie is always a revelation. It's like I'm a thousand percent more alive when I'm part of her.
Even when everything between us went wrong, this never stopped being right.
I start with shallow thrusts. Barely moving. When I feel confident I'm not going to embarrass myself, I go deeper. Stronger. We moan in unison, both getting lost in each other.
Whenever I'm deep in inside her, I can't believe I used to think that soulmates and destiny were ridiculous concepts. We fit together so perfectly, there's no doubt in my mind this woman's body was made for me. Every time I push in, she gasps. When I retreat, she groans like the loss of me is painful.
I feel the same way. How I thought I could ever live without her, I'll never know. One day, when scientists finally discover the meaning of life, I have zero doubt it will include a picture of my Cassie.
"I love you," she whispers. I increase my pace and put my hand between us to rub my thumb against her. She reacts by throwing her head back and arching off the table. "Oh, God, Ethan. I love you so much."
As I thrust and slide, she feels so good I have trouble keeping my eyes open. But seeing her like this, with her head thrown back in ecstasy as she chases down her orgasm? It's too spectacular to miss.
It's not long before she's holding her breath and grasping at me. She starts chanting, "Oh, God," over and over again, each one faster and louder than the last, and I make sure my hips and circling thumb keep pace with her rhythm. Then, she gasps and lets out a long, loud moan, and dammit, I can't hold on a second longer, because she's coming around me, and powerful muscle spasms grip and release until it feels like there's a firestorm inside of me. I manage a few more erratic thrusts before I'm groaning her name, and dizzying waves of pleasure hit me so hard I see stars. Every muscle tenses as I come, and come, and come, and when I'm finished, my legs give out. I collapse onto Cassie, and through our heavy, labored breathing, I can still hear Bing Crosby crooning about silver bells and white Christmases.
"I'm sorry," Cassie says, panting. "I kind of jumped you there. But God, Ethan. Watching you eat something I cooked? Unbelievably sexy."
I nuzzle into her neck and press kisses against her hammering pulse. "Why do you think I cook for you all the time? Watching you eat my food is as sensual as hell." I kiss her mouth, deep and slow.
When she pulls back, she whispers, "Green bean casserole."
I'm instantly confused. "If that's some kind of commentary on my sexual prowess, I'm offended. I just orgasmed the hell out of you, and you hit me with 'green bean casserole'? That's cold, lady."
"Silly man," she says with a smile. "That's what I want to take to your parents' place on Christmas Eve."
I was hoping this sexual diversion would make her forget about that whole plan, but nope. I love that she's trying so hard to impress my family, but she doesn't have to. When we announced our engagement, my mother was so happy she ugly-cried for a full twenty minutes. Dad actually hugged me for a change instead of shaking my hand, and Elissa nearly deafened me with her scream of joy. There's no denying all of the Holts are huge Cassandra Taylor fans.
Of course, after they taste her green bean casserole, that might change.
"I'll help you cook it," I say. Please, God, let me help. I can't deal with you going solo again. I won't survive. "I make a great green bean casserole."
She shakes her head. "Thanks, but I have to do this by myself, otherwise I'll feel like a fraud."
I nod. "Okay. But maybe you should have a practice run before next week."
"Sure. You can be my quality control."
If all of her tasting sessions end up with us fucking like this, I'll deal with as much horrible food as she can throw at me. However, I do make a mental note to pick up a couple of bottles of Mylanta and a giant canister label that reads, SALT! in neon yellow.
"Anything you need," I say, "I'll be there. Just let me know."