He released my wrists and slid lower, resuming that deliberate path of kisses—over my ribs, the quivering plane of my stomach, the sensitive skin just above my pubic bone. Each press of his lips felt like a brand. He finally settled between my thighs, broad shoulders spreading me wider. He hooked my legs over them with careful hands.
Panic and want collided in my chest all over again. “Roarke—” My voice cracked, half plea, half prayer.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against the inside of my thigh, breath hot against my core. “Just breathe, Josie. Let me take care of you.”
“Roarke—I’ve never?—”
“I know.” He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of my thigh. “That’s why I’m going to make this good for you. I promise.”
His breath ghosted over my most sensitive skin and I whimpered. Then his tongue—slow, flat, deliberate—dragged up the center of me. My hips bucked and a cry tore out of my throat. He did it again, firmer this time, circling my clit with the tip of his tongue until my thighs trembled around his head.
One thick finger traced my entrance, gathering wetness, teasing without pushing inside. “So wet already,” he murmured against me. “You taste so fucking sweet, Josie.”
The praise melted something inside me. I reached down, clutching his hair, trying to pull him closer. He gave me what I wanted—slid one finger in slowly, carefully, letting me adjust to the stretch. It didn’t hurt, just felt…full. Strange and perfect at once. He curled it, pressed against a spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Roarke—oh God?—”
He added a second finger, stretching me wider, pumping slowly while his tongue kept working my clit in steady, relentless circles. Pressure built fast—too fast. My thighs shook, my breath came in ragged pants.
“I’m—I think I’m going to?—”
“Come for me,” he growled against my flesh. “Let me feel it.”
The command tipped me over. Pleasure snapped tight and shattered. I cried out his name, back bowing off the couch as wave after wave crashed through me. He didn’t stop—kept licking softly, fingers moving gently until the aftershocks faded and I was trembling, boneless.
When he finally lifted his head, his lips were glossy, eyes blazing. He crawled back up my body and kissed me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. I moaned into his mouth, hands fumbling for his belt.
He caught my wrists again. “Slow, baby. We’ve got time.”
“I want you inside me,” I whispered, cheeks burning even after everything he’d just done. “Please. I’m ready.”
He searched my face for a long moment, then nodded once. He stood long enough to strip off his shirt and shove his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprang free—heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip. My mouth went dry.
He knelt between my thighs again, fisting himself once, twice, spreading the wetness over the head. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I reached for him, sliding my hand down his length. He hissed through his teeth. “And—I’m on birth control. The shot. We’re safe.”
His eyes darkened further. “Fuck. Good girl.”
He braced one hand beside my head, used the other to guide himself to my entrance. The broad head nudged inside—just the tip—and I sucked in a breath at the stretch.
“Breathe,” he murmured, kissing my jaw, my temple. “Relax for me.”
I forced myself to exhale. He pushed forward inch by glorious inch, pausing every time I tensed, whispering praise against my skin—how good I felt, how perfect, how beautiful. When he was finally seated fully, hips flush against mine, we both stilled.
Full. So full I could barely think. But it didn’t hurt the way I’d feared—just pressure, heat, the delicious ache of being claimed.
“You okay?” His voice was strained, arms trembling with the effort of holding still.
I nodded, then rocked my hips experimentally. We both groaned.
“Move,” I begged. “Please move.”
He pulled out almost all the way—slow, deliberate—then slid back in with one smooth stroke. The friction was exquisite. He set a careful rhythm, deep and measured, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. There was none. Only building heat, only the desperate need for more.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Harder,” I whispered. “I can take it.”
Something snapped in his control. His thrusts grew sharper, stronger, each one driving the breath from my lungs. The couch creaked beneath us. Skin slapped against skin. I clawed at his back, nails digging in, chasing the edge again.
