I was coherent enough to start yanking his shirt out of his pants, undoing his belt, unzipping his slacks, and then finally shoving them down his hips along with his boxer briefs. I sensed him kicking them down his legs but I was too busy trying to get his shirt unbuttoned, and then after practically ripping it off his shoulders along with his undershirt. I touched the smooth expanse of his chest. Hard muscle quivered under my hands as I glided over the ridges of his abs and pecs, smoothing the coarse sprinkling of hairs under his belly button with my thumbs. It was impossible to miss the long, pink cock bobbing in the air begging for my attention.

"You're so pretty," I mumbled without thinking.

I heard him chuckle while he shifted on the bed, brushing his hands over my shoulders, and then down the side of my ribs to grip my hips. "You're the prettiest thing," he said against my ear.

Looking up, I saw that he was kneeling on the bed, legs spread wide and in a perfect ninety degree angle. I couldn't think of anything as he pulled me to him, pressing my chest against his in a meeting of taut and soft. Tristan kissed me, slanting his mouth against mine, while that magical tongue now delved deep into me searching for something. I felt him loosen his grip and slide his hands down to cup the back of my thighs, and then I was up, hovering over the tip of cock and balancing precariously in his grip while he sat back onto his calves.

Slowly, he lowered me onto him, until I stretched around his length and girth so he was fully sheathed in me. We both groaned, moaned, and I was pretty sure I whimpered out some kind of garbage. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I couldn't help but take in the feeling of him deep in me, his chest pressed against mine, his hands strategically placed where my ass and thighs met, and his face nuzzling my own. "I love you," he said in his rich, velvet voice.

"I love you too," I said in a tone that was anything but even and calm.

I cherished the silence as he bucked his hips up and into me, holding me in his hands and using his strength to move my heat over his. There was something about this, something that was just as good if not better than the only other time he'd been in me that sang through my veins, that didn't let me think about how long this was going to last, or what I was going to do the next day, or even my own fucking name. All I was then was this. His.

Up and down, he thrust and stroked that thick, long cock in me. I could feel every fucking inch of him. With each of my moans, he returned it, whispering things under his breath.

"The best," he bucked.

"So wet," he murmured, sucking on my neck.

"Perfect," his voice strained out.

It was slow, and perfect when he started grinding his hips into me, rubbing me just the right way with the blunt tip of his cock and the rub of his skin on my wet and charged flesh. I came, moaning and crying against his neck, my climax washing over me and him so tightly and intense that he grunted the entire time. He was covered in sweat, shaking in exhaustion from holding me up for so long.

Tristan wrapped an arm around the middle of my back and shifted his way closer to his massive headboard, still buried in me, laying me down so close to it that my hair brushed the wood. His hands were gone, gripping the top of the headboard with his immaculate upper body stretched above me. The slow strokes turned hard and fast, flicking into me with a roll so perfected that it almost made me think about things that I shouldn't. I couldn't help but look at him while he pushed in and out of me. His green eyes were closed briefly, and then suddenly he spent half the time looking me right in the eye, and the other half at the slippery, wet place where we were joined.

"So good," I cried out, placing one hand between my skull and the headboard when he started rocking me into it. I grabbed his ass with my other hand, like I was trying to urge him into me deeper.