He pushes open mydoor and lowers me onto the mattress with surprising gentleness, but he doesn’t join me—just stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at me.
My thighs press together instinctively, a reflexive attempt at modesty even though it’s far too late for that. His eyes track the movement, and I force myself to breathe.
If I were someone confident and experienced, I’d know exactly how to arrange myself attractively on these sheets and what sultry expression to wear.
But I’ve never been the girl men want so badly they have to hold themselves back.
Which is why every nerve in my body feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something bigger than sex. Something dangerous.
“You’re staring at me really intensely,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. Just looms, gaze heavy, like he’s deciding whether I can handle him. Whether I’m ready for what he’s about to do.
“I’m trying really fucking hard to be gentle here,” he growls.
“Are you always gentle?”
“No.”
That single word sends heat crawling over every inch of my skin.
I squirm, the mattress creaking under me. “I can take it,” I say, though my body is one giant trembling contradiction to that claim.
“I don’t want you totakeit, Georgie. I want you to enjoy it.”
No one’s ever said that to me before. Patrick says it like my pleasure is the entire point of this.
“I will,” I breathe, even though I’m suddenly, horribly aware that I’ve just spent hours in a sweaty pub full of sweaty balls, stale beer, and Eau de Fish Festival. That can’t be… good. Hopefully my vagina doesn’t smell like it should be displayed on a slab at Tesco.
I’m halfway to trying to invent a casual excuse to bolt for a shower, maybe even a complete makeover, when his hand drops to his fly.
The sharpzzzipcuts through the air, making my stomach clench so hard I nearly levitate off the bed.
He shoves his jeans and boxers down. His cock is already thick and heavy, the flushed head straining.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t hide. Just stands there, fist wrapped around himself, letting me look.
Oh God. It’s… big. Thick. Veined. Terrifying in the best possible way.
What the hell am I supposed to do withthat?
My breathing stutters as he lowers himself over me, forearms braced on either side of my head. Heat rolls off him. He pushes my hair off my shoulder, lips finding my neck—soft at first, then harder, hotter, until stubble scrapes and my fingers knot in the sheets.
His mouth closes over my nipple, sucking hard enough to make my back arch, teasing with his tongue until I gasp. The thick length of him presses into my stomach, pulsing, separated from me by nothing but the last flimsy scraps of fabric.
I reach down, desperate to wrap my hand around him, but he catches my wrists mid-motion. One smooth shove, and my arms are pinned above my head.
“Not yet,” he murmurs.
His free hand slides into my panties, knuckles grazing heat before his fingers sink into the slickness between my thighs. The lewdshlick-shlickof him stroking me fills the air, wet and shameless, each glide louder than the last until my cheeks flame.
“Soaked,” he groans, like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt and heard.
“Oh God!” I gasp as his thick finger pushes inside, stretching me.
“So fucking tight.” His teeth grit as he works me open. “Clenching already… and I’ve barely started. You’ll never be able to take me.”
His finger moves slowly, dragging out before plunging back in, curling until my hips lift, chasing him.
