Her hands moved to his fly, fumbling with the buttons to unleash his huge cock. Oh God, she wanted it. She held it in both hands, and he thrust into her loose grip repeatedly. His broken gasps made her whimper with need.
Someone cleared his throat. Incredulous, Myrna peeked around Brian’s shoulder to find their server standing there with a hand out.
“He needs a tip,” Myrna said as Brian tugged her tight skirt up her thighs.
“I’ll give him a tip. Get the fuck out of here and close the goddamned door. There’s his fucking tip.”
“Just add a twenty percent gratuity to the bill,” Myrna said.
The cart rattled again as the server pushed it out of his way. The door closed. Alone at last.
Brian rubbed the head of his cock against Myrna’s hot, needy opening. Her entire core pulsed and ached, begging to be filled. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his intoxicating scent. She loved the way he smelled after a concert. The blend of excitement and the exertion of performing live added some pheromone to his sweat that pushed every one of her fuck-me buttons. She sucked the saltiness from his throat, delighting in the rapid surge of blood through the pulse point she palpated with her lips and tongue. She nipped him and rubbed her pussy against the head of his cock, which he still hadn’t buried deep inside her the way she wanted.
Fighting her tight skirt, she lifted her leg to rest her thigh against his hip. That was enough to move him, and he surged up into her body, filling her with one deep thrust. She tore her mouth from his throat and released a breathless moan. He clutched her suit jacket as he pounded into her and rubbed his open mouth against her throat and jaw. She loved when they took their time and made love for hours, but there was something unequivocally hot about this man losing all control and fucking her senseless. He sucked a path to her mouth and kissed her deeply. When he tore his mouth from hers, her eyelids fluttered open. Their excited breaths mingled as they stared into each other’s eyes. She was so lost in him. So lost. She never wanted to be found again.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Myrna.”
“Yes, Brian,” she said, her breath hitching with emotion. She wasn’t an emotional person. She internalized. She knew that. With him? With him, she felt safe. She could show him everything within her heart—good and bad—and know he’d treasure it because he loved her and understood how hard exposing her deepest emotions was for her. Or how hard it had been. Opening herself to him was becoming easier by the minute, because he made it easy.
“I love you.” She grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and yanked to ensure he was paying close attention. “I love you.”
“Love me a little more gently,” he complained.
She released her hold and rubbed his head to undo any damage before wrapping both arms around him. She slid her hands up under the back of his T-shirt, needing the feel of his skin beneath her palms. “I love you,” she said into his ear.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, as if trying to internalize her words. Physically draw them inside himself.
“Hearing you say it... I can’t even describe how amazing it feels.” He nipped her earlobe playfully. “But maybe I can show you.”
Brian moved inside her. Slow. Hard. Deep. He was very good at showing his feelings. She became hyperaware of the man against her: the texture of his skin beneath her splayed hands; the warmth of his breath against her shoulder; the tickle of his hair against her nose as her panting stirred the longish strands; his strong fingers massaging her ass as he ground into her, filling her body to its limits with his huge cock. But there was a new awareness within her. A swelling in her chest. A tightening in her throat. A prickle behind her eyes. Was she about to cry? Not in sorrow but in joy? What in the hell had gotten into her?
Brian had. He was in her deep and not just with the rock-hard shaft that was working her toward rapture. His essence, his soul, was now part of her. Essential to her existence.
Brian found a tempo that drove her crazy, that built her pleasure steadily. Taking her higher. Higher.
“I hear you,” he whispered. “My muse.”
Knowing he was hearing one of his musical compositions while he made love to her caused one of those sentimental tears to leak from her eye. She rubbed her face against his shoulder, hoping he didn’t notice that the no-holds-barred sex professor he’d married was actually crying during sex. He’d think she’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with some emotional pod person. She swallowed the lump in her throat and asked, her voice raw, “Do you need something to write on, baby?”
He shook his head and repeatedly murmured a series of notes. “I’ll remember it.”
“I can’t wait to hear you play it.”
“I’m sorry. You must hate that this keeps getting in the way of our fun.”
She kissed his temple, and her arms tightened around him. “Not at all. It’s sexy,” she whispered to him. “You composing when we make love is sexy.”
He chuckled. “Damned inconvenient if you ask me.”
“I didn’t.” She smiled to herself and did nothing to interrupt or change his thrusting tempo while his murmured stanzas grew longer and more complex. She was glad she had something to distract her—she could get all her overwhelming and tender emotions under control. Sort of.
Myrna’s legs began to tremble with exhaustion after several minutes.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered, wishing she didn’t have to interrupt his musical genius. But she was going to slide to the floor in about three seconds. “Can we move this to the bedroom?”