She took his meaning and held on to him even as she moved to straddle him again, her quim, wet and swollen with need, hovering above him. He grabbed hold of her waist to steady her as she slid the crown of his cock along her—oh, yes,wet—slit and he pressed at the opening of her sex.
He growled. An actual growl. Like an animal.
Who was this man he was becoming?
She planted her other palm on his shoulder and began to lower onto him. Inch by slow inch, she took him into her sex—her flesh swollen and tight around him—her half lidded gaze gone hazy with need. To be inside Delilah…
How long had he wanted this?
How many nights had it stolen into his dreams?
“Oh, Sebastian,” she gasped. “How…oh…how much more of you can there be?”
“You can take it, Delilah. You can take all of me.”
She went still, and a slow beat of time ticked by. “Can I?”
Quick on the question’s heels, the certainty crashed in that they weren’t simply talking about this carnal act. They were speaking of something less tangible—something they would need to talk about later.
For now, the carnal had its demands.
Having taken most of him in, she slowed, adjusting to the feel of him—her body bathed in moonlight…knees digging into the sand…her nipples puckered and begging for a lick…her sex, wet and effulgent, impaled on him…
How had he captured this goddess and made her his for the night?
His.
Careful, a voice warned. It would be too easy to feel like a god himself for having accomplished the feat.
Hubris.
Hubris he hadn’t truly earned for he hadn’t given her what she wanted.
Yet.
Toward that end, he pushed himself upright, bringing their chests to touch, their mouths so close their breath mingled. Her taut nipples pressed into him, and his hands found the hollow of her spine and the bead of perspiration trickling down, before tightening around her hips and moving her on him.
“Oh,” she groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, her loose curls tickling his cheek as she pressed her lips to his, breathing a long moan into his mouth as she began to take control of her movement, slowly, testingly, taking him in deeply, fully, not shying away from the boundaries of pleasure and pain.
This Delilah…the one entirely abandoned to herself…he’d sensed her all this time, for it wasshewho called to thehimhe kept hidden away.
Thehimwho wanted and craved and ached.
Forher.
“You’re ready, Delilah.”
“Ready?” She muttered into his neck. “For what?”
“Forthis.”
His grip tightened on her hips, and he thrust. She gasped and cried out.
“Too much?”
She shook her head. “Do it again.”
He held her fast against him, grinding her on him, and thrust again. Her grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into flesh, and her hips joined his rhythm, carrying her toward the place she sought. He saw it in the determined intensity of her movements, the crease of her brow, the concentration of purpose. Release was beginning to taunt her, just out of reach.
