He straightens and looks at me again, longer this time, eyes moving slowly and possessively. I feel the weight of it everywhere he looks.
“You’re perfect,” he says, his voice rough. “So fucking perfect, I don’t know where to start.”
My cheeks burn. I duck my head.
He tips my chin back up with two fingers. “Don’t hide from me. Not tonight. Not ever while you’re mine.”
While you’re mine.
Fifteen months.
But the way he’s looking at me feels a lot longer than fifteen months.
He lifts me and walks towards the bed. Lowering me onto the edge where I sit, then scoot back when he follows, climbing over me like a predator who’s finally cornered his prey. The mattress dips under our weight and I sink into silk and down.
His hand slides up my thigh, gentle but relentless, parting my legs. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Open them,” he orders quietly.
I do.
He’s watching my face like he’s learning every flicker of expression.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says. “Say the word and I will. I swear it.”
I believe him. I don’t know why, but I do.
He lowers himself slowly, letting me feel his weight bit by bit. His skin is hot against mine, the hard length of him pressed against my belly. I whimper and he groans like the sound undoes him.
His mouth finds mine at the same moment his fingers slip between my legs.
The kiss is slow, deep and deliberate. His tongue strokes mine and I forget how to breathe.
Then his fingers move in one slow, firm circle, and my hips jerk off the bed.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs against my lips, approval thick in his voice. “Good.”
He keeps touching me, learning me, until I’m writhing and making sounds I didn’t know I could make. Until I’m slick and aching and clutching at him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.
He moves downwards, dotting kisses over my chest, sucking each pebbled nipple into his mouth until my back arches, then lower, over my belly and hips. Then his head is between my thighs and he is nudging my knees further apart with his shoulders.
When his mouth covers my center, hot and hungry, I feel myself blast apart into a million fragments.
My body shudders and shakes as I grind and squirm against his mouth. His name is a broken mess in my mouth, my throat too tight to make words, instead breaking open on a cry.
“Breathe, malyshka,” he whispers when my body finally stops moving of it’s own accord. “I’ve got you.”
He kisses me, my taste thick on his lips, fresh on his tongue. The blunt heat of him nudges at my entrance, and I panic for one heartbeat.
He stills instantly.
I nod, shaky, and wrap my arms around his neck because I need something to hold onto.
He pushes in slowly and it burns, a sharp stretch that makes me gasp and cling on to him as I clench my teeth.
He stops again.
“I know,” he says against my temple, dropping a kiss there before leaning back so he can look me in the eyes. “I know it hurts. Just breathe with me and try to relax. If you clench like this it will all be over before I’ve been able to fully take care of you.”
