I've never done anything like this before. Never been naked in front of a man, never touched myself with an audience, never felt so exposed and so powerful at the same time. But something about the way he's looking at me makes me brave.
I let my hand drift down my stomach, past the waistband of my shorts, and I touch myself the way I do every night when I'm alone and aching for him. I'm already wet, embarrassingly so, and when my fingers find my clit, I can't stop the moan that escapes my lips.
"That's it," he breathes. "Just like that. Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking about you," I gasp, my hips rolling against my own hand. "I'm thinking about your hands. Your mouth. I'm thinking about how much I want you inside me."
He makes a sound like I've wounded him, and then he's moving, covering my body with his, his mouth crashing down onto mine. He kisses me deep and desperate, one hand coming up to cup my breast while the other catches my wrist and gently pulls my hand away.
"My turn," he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot on my skin, and then his fingers are replacing mine, sliding through my slick folds with a deliberate slowness that makes me gasp and arch into his touch.
"You're so ready for me." His voice is thick with wonder and reverence, almost disbelieving. "So incredibly wet. Have you been like this the whole time? Aching and needing me?"
"Since you knocked on my door," I confess breathlessly, my cheeks flushing with the admission. "Since before that, even. Since the first time you looked at me in church, when your eyes found mine across the pews and I felt something shift inside me."
He groans and captures my mouth again, his fingers working in slow circles that have me arching off the bed. One finger slips inside me, then two, and the stretch is perfect and not enough all at once.
"Cillian." I'm gripping his shoulders, his hair, anything I can reach. "Please. I need more. I need you."
He pulls back enough to look at me, and there's something vulnerable beneath the hunger in his eyes. "I need to tell you something first. Before we go any further."
"What?"
"I haven't done this in a long time. Not since before the seminary. And I've never..." He swallows hard. "I've never been with someone I cared about. Not like this. I don't want to disappoint you."
The confession makes my heart twist. This powerful, commanding man, worried about disappointing me. I cup his face in my hands and pull him down for a kiss that's soft and sweet and full of all the things I don't know how to say.
"You could never disappoint me," I tell him. "I've never done this at all. You're my first. My only. And I'm terrified and excitedand so overwhelmed I can barely breathe. We'll figure it out together."
Something shifts in his expression. The vulnerability is still there, but it's wrapped in something fiercer now. Possessiveness. Determination. He reaches for the hem of his sweater and pulls it over his head, revealing a broad chest and stomach that makes my mouth go dry.
"Your first," he repeats, and the word seems to do something to him. "Your only."
"Yes."
"Then I'm going to make sure it's good." He kisses my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "I'm going to make sure you remember this for the rest of your life."
He undresses me slowly, peeling away my shorts and underwear like he's unwrapping something precious. His mouth follows his hands, kissing and tasting every inch of skin he reveals. By the time I'm fully naked beneath him, I'm shaking with need.
"Perfect," he murmurs against my hip. "Absolutely perfect."
Then his mouth is on me, between my legs, and I stop being able to form coherent thoughts. He licks into me like I'm communion wine, worshipful and thorough, his tongue finding every sensitive spot with devastating precision. When he sucks my clit into his mouth, I come with a cry that echoes off the walls, my hands fisted in the sheets, my whole body trembling.
He doesn't stop. He works me through the aftershocks and then keeps going, building me up again even as I'm still coming down. By the time he finally pulls away, I've lost count of the times I've crested that peak.
"Please," I gasp. "Please, I need you. I need to feel you inside me."
He strips off the rest of his clothes, and I get my first look at all of him. He's beautiful, all hard lines and coiled strength, and when I see how much he wants me, evident and undeniable, something deep in my core clenches with anticipation.
He positions himself between my thighs, the head of him pressing against my entrance, and pauses to look at me with so much tenderness it makes my throat tight.
"If it hurts, tell me," he says. "If you want to stop, we stop. No questions asked."
"I don't want to stop. I want you. All of you. Please."
He pushes inside me slowly, inch by inch, giving me time to adjust to the stretch. There's a moment of burning pressure that makes me gasp, and he freezes immediately.
"Don't stop," I breathe. "It's okay. Keep going."
