“My mind is twisted,” he whispers. “I want you filthy, unclean. I want you breaking apart beneath me. I want to fuck you like an animal, to claim you as mine.” He palms my breast, his thumb brushing over the boned corset above my hardening nipple. “I want everything you can give me. I want it all.”
His fervor frightens me even as it comforts me. To know the wanting is soul-deep, that is here and he will stay. That, too, frightens me, comforts me.
“Zephyrus,” I say. “I want that more than you know.”
Pushing my hand aside, he hooks his fingers in the hem of my chemise, yet pauses, looking to me for permission. I nod and lift my hips, allowing him to push the folds of the undergarment toward my stomach.
A shiver of cold air slinks across my naked legs. I’m afraid Zephyrus notices the size of my thighs, their unsightly pallor, the lack of defined muscle. But his lips part, and his eyes darken with unmistakable hunger.
His hand replaces mine at the juncture of my thighs and begins to move, drifting across the wet folds, lower, before dragging upward again, brushing the nub there. Over and over, his touch draws the pleasure to higher peaks. Sand scrunches in my sweaty palms as the trembling worsens and the ache between my legs throbs so intensely I fear I might pass out.
Leaning forward, Zephyrus catches my mouth. “Let the pleasure come.”
One of his hands lifts, cupping the back of my head while the other slicks upward in a hot glide. Two fingers brush the top of my sex where the nerves pinch, quivering. Faster and faster, he circles. My legs widen, heels digging into the sand, hips lifting for prolonged contact. The burn is unbearable. When he returns to the throbbing bud, he flicks there, and the heat ruptures.
A hoarse, broken moan peals out of me. My body splinters and heals in turn. My hips shudder as they rise and fall, his fingers plunging inside me, and the pleasure explodes with glittering intensity. I cry out, clamping my legs around his arm as a second wave of pleasure barrels into me, sweeping me asunder.
All at once, the tension inside me drains, and I slump onto the sand. As Zephyrus pulls away, I grab his arm, my eyes searching his.
“Do you need space?” he asks carefully.
“No.” I try to catch my breath. “Doyouneed space?”
He laughs, and I laugh, because it’s the most infectious sound. “No, Brielle,” he chuckles. “I need the opposite of space, if I’m being honest.”
My smile widens, for I, too, desire the closeness of two bodies aligned.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” he probes. “It cannot be undone.”
I reach for his hand, seeking the connection that has been built, strengthened, broken, and reforged since we first met. “I’m certain.”
“We’ll go slow,” he assures me. “All right?”
My eyes drop to his groin. I swallow to draw moisture to my mouth. “Yes.”
A few deft movements, and Zephyrus disposes of his trousers. His pubic hair is much darker than what lies on his head. The length of his sex protrudes, veins ridged down the shaft.
The sight is… well. Again, I’ve seen nakedness before, but never a man fully erect.
As if sensing my trepidation, Zephyrus brings a hand softly to my face. A breeze disturbs the moonlit oasis. “If at any point it feels uncomfortable, tell me. I’ll stop.”
He will. If nothing else, I trust him to honor my boundaries.
Settling back, I focus on slowing my breathing. When the head of his erection brushes my entrance, I tense, yet force another exhalation from my lungs. I feel no apprehension, only fear of pain. I’ve heard the first time can hurt. It stings as he pushes inside.
Knees braced, Zephyrus leans forward, gripping my outer thighs as he slides deeper. I flinch, hissing softly.
He stops, head bowed. “No.” He shakes his head and pulls out. “We’ll do it another way.”
I prop myself on my elbows, thoroughly confused. “I want to continue.” I see no blood. Not yet, anyway.
“Not like this. Your first time should be handled with care.”
Emotion swells as a lump in my throat. I appreciate his consideration, though admittedly, I’m distracted. His erection glistens, the head ruddy with color. My fingertips brush the flared crown. It twitches beneath my exploration, a clear substance beading at the slit, sticky to the touch.
“Lie back,” Zephyrus orders, and I relent, his gaze warm, bright with adoration. He massages my upper thighs, thumbs indenting the soft skin. His mouth drifts upward, skimming the top of my sex. Zephyrus pauses there, inhales, eyes shut. When they open, the emerald glimmers with vibrancy.
“I want to taste you.”
