Free Man of My Dreams by Faith Andrews

bra, his eyes meet mine and I can see how happy he is. This is not just an I’m-getting-laid happy. This is an I’ve-waited-my-whole-life-for-you happy. I know because I’m pretty sure I have the same exact look on my face.
    “God, you’re beautiful, Mia.” His voice is so sexy. I’ve never heard it this way. The hoarse, raspy declaration is the hugest turn on ever.
    “You’re not too bad yourself.” I don’t want to taint this with corny phrases we think we’re supposed to say, so I leave it at that and pull him closer again, allowing my tongue to do all the talking. I hope he understands what it’s saying right now.
    His hands are hooked into my belt loops now, shimmying my pants down my legs effortlessly. Yup, he understands. The jeans join his t-shirt on the floor, and now, besides our undergarments, the only item keeping us from becoming one is his pants
    I contemplate letting him remove them at his own accord, giving him a chance to make sure this is definitely what he wants, but damn it if I can take a second longer of the suspense. “Allow me?”
    “Mmmhhmmm,” he groans.
    I undo his button fly and inch his pants past the generous bulge confined by his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He pulls them down the rest of the way and when his body caresses mine—the first time our skin has ever been melded this way—I let out a whimpering moan and inhale a deep breath.
    My hands reach into his underwear, gripping his muscular behind and pulling him closer. The friction is positively divine. My thighs accommodate him as his knee nudges them apart slowly and without hesitation I slide the Calvins off and tighten my grip around his solid flesh. He sucks in a long breath and takes this as his cue to rid me of my own panties. The lace tickles my legs as he carefully removes them, but instead of giggling, I moan as the friction reminds me of the reason I’m being stripped so delicately.
    He lingers over me, his jaw clenched, everything about his naked body against mine taut, rigid and ready. Before I give up all sense of sanity, I whisper in his ear, “The condom.”
    He stretches over me, opening my drawer and producing a shiny foil packet. Hello there, Mr. Trojan. Your time has finally come. He rips it open with his teeth, making me laugh at his eagerness, and then rolls the latex down over himself.
    This is it! In this one tender moment, before he enters me, I look into his eyes, so grateful that we waited and didn’t jump into this the night he sang about wanting me. I wanted him then too, but this? This want, fueled by love, is so much more than just sex.
    He guides himself inside me with his hand. He isn’t trembling; he knows what he’s doing. He breaches me, inching in slowly at first and when he is finally submerged we let out matching groans. “Oh my God, Mia. I never knew it could feel this good.”
    “Me either, baby. It’s heaven.”
    His breathing intensifies as he rocks his hips, gently at first, his thrusts slow and careful, savoring the joining of our bodies. My hands grip his tense biceps, his forehead presses down against mine. Every nerve ending in my body sings, in awe of the way Declan shows his love for me.
    “I love you, Declan. I never want to stop loving you.”
    And I don’t. In fact, I love him another three times that night. And as we lay there together, tangled in each other’s warm embrace, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I will never make love to another man again for as long as I live.

 
     
    “I’m so sorry, baby. You have no idea how sorry I am.” His pathetic tears stream down his face, through the spaces between his fingers that cover the shame in his eyes.
    I want to answer him, but I can’t. The words clog my throat, prompting me to reach up and feel for the invisible lump they’ve created. I want to tell him how badly I hurt. How angry I am. But worst of all I want to tell him how much I miss him. How much I miss us being a family.
    I close my eyes,