Page 96 of Thick

A tingling ran through me from head to toe. Other than my father, no other man had ever spoken those words. I shouldn’t have, I mean I really shouldn’t have.

But I did.

I just needed to hear it again.

“Excuse me?”

He cleared his throat. “I love you.”

I looked at his massive chest, his chiseled abs, and his bulging biceps. At that moment, it was none of those things that I mattered.

All that mattered was who Tate Reynolds was.

“I love you, too,” I said. “I really do.”

He pressed his chest to mine, held me tight, and kissed me until I was a submissive pile of sexual desire. And then, he did what real men do.

Confident men.

Men with great big dicks.

He made love to me.

Not by stepping on my head or bending me over a concrete park bench. He didn’t take me to a window and fuck me for the city to see, or fuck me in a movie theater. No one was restrained, and there were no handcuffs.

They weren’t needed.

When a man has a dick like Tate’s, and a heart of gold, he doesn’t need gimmicks, accessories, or people in the background clapping.

He simply needs to do what God put him on this earth to do.

Make love like a fucking boss.

During that time, Tate Reynolds owned me. Fully. Completely.

His hips gyrated magically, filling me with his magnificent cock with each thrust. I groped, grabbed, and dug my nails into his back, all of which seemed to drive him to last longer than I ever would have expected.

Everything about Tate fit me. Where I had a curve, he filled it. Our bodies meshed. Perfectly. If two people were ever made to fit together, it was us. Elated that everything worked as well as it did, I relaxed and let him do what it seemed he was good at.

He did it with care, caution, and, most of all, love.

When I was no longer able to count the orgasms I’d achieved on my fingers, I started with my toes.

Two toes into it, and I felt the mother of all orgasms building.

My eyes shot open.

Oh. My. God.

He sensed it. Or he caused it intentionally. Something. But, somehow he knew. His pace increased slightly, but didn’t become savage. A few seconds later, his cock swelled to twice its original girth.

I sank my fingers into his flesh with such force that I was sure he’d have scars, but I didn’t care. I mean, I did. But, I didn’t.

And then, at that instant that he took the last stroke that I can recall, I burst into a million little pieces and showered the room with emotion.

“Oh. My God!” I muttered, arching my back in the process.

“I fucking love you,” he exclaimed.