Before, they had been two people. Now, as he turned her and set her atop him, it felt as though they were one. And it was the rendering them back into two that would cause the pain.
Raising her up a little, he took hold of himself and rubbed against her entrance. His eyes lost focus, and he released a shuddering breath. “This is your first time?”
“Yes.”
“I should not like that as much as I do,” he muttered, more to himself than her. His hand on her hip flexed and he looked up into her face. “This position puts you in control. If it hurts, and it may, you can stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” she said, watching the effect it had on him. The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed and he looked at her with such greedy, desperate admiration. She revelled in it, the feeling of power it gave her, that someone could want her this much. Beyond reason.
There was very little reason left between them.
She didn’t know her body particularly well, but he did, placing himself right where he needed to be. It was pure instinct to press down, pushing down and down, attempting to take him in despite the tightness and the friction. Delicious, glorious friction that somehow eased the way and sent fire licking up her body. He gripped her hips, muttering obscenities that somehow made the moment sweeter, not forcing her down but guiding her to an angle that had him so deep inside her, she saw stars.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he said, voice gravelly when he was fully inside her. She shifted experimentally, and his fingers squeezed her in chastisement. “Just stay still for a moment. Get used to the feel of me.”
There had been, briefly, a moment of too-tightness, but that had faded now. The sensation of being filled was almost too much to bear, and yet she could bear it, wanted to bear it, never wanted it to stop.
She raised her gaze to his face and he pulled her in for a kiss as she rolled her hips, experimenting with how best to move. He moaned, gripping her hip almost to the point of pain. Despite the emotion binding her chest, she smiled.
“I’ve dreamt of this,” he said as he pushed into her, smiling at the helpless sound she made. “Not just here—everywhere.”
Words were nigh impossible, but she managed, “Tell me.”
“Here.” His lips brushed her jaw. “Upstairs in my bed. You’ve done things there that would make you blush.”
Annabelle gripped his shoulders as she tried to find her rhythm. His hands on her hips guided, the pressure gentle yet firm. “How long have you wanted to do this?”
“Longer than I should.”
That wasn’t an answer, but he placed his thumb against her folds and began to rub, and the questions fell away. Her movements became jerky. He smoothed his other hand down her back. “Slowly,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Jacob.”
“When you fall apart, I want my name on your lips.”
Such a possessive thing to say, and yet she revelled in it; the gruff note in his voice made her climax closer, closer, closer.
Everything was too bright, too much. And yet not enough. Though it was impossible, she wanted to be closer. She increased her pace, feeling as though fireworks were bursting inside her, bright colour against deep dark.
“Jacob,” she gasped. “It’s happening.”
“I know. Let it happen, love.”
Her nails dug into his shoulder and she bent her head, biting down on the muscle between his shoulder and neck. Jacob rasped a laugh as his hand flattened on the small of her back, holding her where he needed her.
“That’s right,” he said. “I’m yours. Do as you please.”
There was nothing that pleased her more than this. She wanted to sink in this moment forever, to submerge and never again break the surface. If drowning meant she could stay here with Jacob, feeling him everywhere, then she would.
Her heart contracted, but before she could recognise the feeling, pleasure swept across her. His thumb grew more urgent, pressing where she needed him, and she cried his name as she fell apart.
His arms were gentle as they cradled her until she shuddered, boneless, against him. Then he shifted her until she was lying on the sofa and he was poised above her.
When he entered her again, it felt like a reckoning. She could summon no laughter as she looked at him now, drinking in the grim beauty of his face. His eyes were dark and lovely. She would never forget them as long as she lived.
Time unravelled. Jacob’s thrusts started gentle, little sinuous rolls of his hips that drove her partway insane, and she urged him on with her hands, her nails, her mouth. She kissed and licked every part of him she had access to, kissing his collarbone, licking up the column of his throat. One hand sank into her hair again, holding it just tightly enough; the other came to her throat, and she remembered the way he had wrapped his fingers around her neck in the closet, and the wild rush of heat through her made her skin prickle.
“Annabelle.” Jacob’s voice was urgent, and she felt it, the way something changed. His movements grew harder, pushing inside her deeper until the pleasure was scalding, blinding, the pressure growing and growing even without his hand between them to urge her on.
