His smile is quiet. “Before we go further—birth control?”
Heat climbs my throat. I shake my head.
“Okay,” he says easily. “I’ve got it.” Then, softer, “And just so we’re clear, you don’t owe me anything. There’s no pressure to go all the way. We can stop whenever you want.”
“I understand,” I say.
His hands slide down my hips as his mouth finds the nape of my neck, unhurried, giving me time. When he kisses me again, it’s slow, consuming, tasting of discovery. Bit by bit, his mouth turns frenzied, greedy, nipping and licking and tonguing. Fireworks explode in the pit of my belly, blood rushing south and pulsing insistently. A blaze consumes me, chest to throat to cheeks, and my gasp ricochets off the walls as I press closer.
Embarrassment doesn’t stand a chance against the glide of his hand in my hair and the steady insistence of his tongue coaxing me open, the rightness of this moment settling deep. Air is a luxury I don’t need, until he rips his mouth off mine, staring at me feverishly, a glint in his eyes.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, grasping my face roughly and kissing me even more wildly. “The things I want to do to you. But I need to be gentle now, don’t I?”
The ache between my thighs is so intense, I can barely speak. “I want to feel you inside of me. I want you to show me.”
“We have time,” he says as he wraps my legs around his waist, pressing me into the mattress, his length nestled over my opening through our clothes. His tongue gives me the barest of licks on the nape of my neck, his hot breath coasting over the damp spot. Cedar, pepper, his breath, all of it tangles together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
His hands bracket my sides, fingers rough from the stick and tape, tracing the outline of my ribs, the dip of my waist. My body answers before my mind catches up, hips lifting toward his touch. The sound that escapes me isn’t quite a word, just a breath caught on a moan.
I’m not prepared for my reaction when his hand cupsme hard through my jeans. Electricity zips along my spine, my nipples bundling into aching peaks.
“My girl wants this, doesn’t she?” he rasps, massaging me as I thrash shamelessly into his palm, searching for more friction. The room glows faintly at the edges now, the world reduced to the space between us. His voice against my throat—soft, a single exhale—turns the air violet-blue.
“Christ.” His groan is rough, wrecked. “You’re so responsive.” He eases back just enough to lift my top, his knuckles skimming my ribs. Cool air meets warm skin, but his gaze burns hotter. He pulls the fabric over my head and drops it to the bed. His eyes darken at the white bra, at the way my nipples peak beneath it, and the look he gives me turns my pulse frantic.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers hooking into the cups, tugging them down. My breath hitches as the fabric gives way, my breasts spilling free. His pupils blow wide, his chest rising and falling faster.
His mouth is on me before I can react, wet and demanding, his tongue swirling around one tight peak before he sucks it between his lips. A sharp, needy sound tears from my throat, my back arching off the bed. He chuckles, the vibration making me gasp, his teeth grazing my nipple just enough to sting. “You like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
I nod, my face flaming.
His fingers pinch my other nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and I moan, my hips jerking uselessly against the mattress. “I need to hear you,” he says, his tone firmer now, demanding. His free hand slides down my stomach, his palm pressing flat against the ache between my legs. “Do you like it?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter, my voice barely there. His lengthpresses into me, and I reach for his cock between us, causing him to spasm and pulse. My lips pop open in surprise. I use my free hand to hold the side of his face, brushing my fingers along his cheekbone.
His grin is wicked. “Come on, baby. You knew it was there,” he rasps, squeezing my breasts together and flicking his tongue from one nipple to another, as if he can’t decide which one he likes best. “It’s always there, hoping you’ll ask for it.”
A moan passes through me while I’m stroking his hard length. I discover that if I move my hand up and down, he thrusts into me instinctively.
The stubble on his cheeks scratches delicately against my skin as he kisses his way down my sternum, scattering tingles over my skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of my jeans, dragging them down my hips with agonizing slowness. “Lift,” he orders, and I obey, my pulse roaring in my ears. The fabric whispers as it slides down my legs, leaving me in nothing but my panties: simple white and damp with my arousal. His breath hitches, his gaze locking on the spot where I’m already wet for him. “Goddamn it, Wren,” he groans, his thumb pressing against the cotton, right over my clit. I jerk, a broken sound escaping me. “You’re soaked.”
I should be embarrassed. But the way he looks at me, like I’m the most delicious thing he’d ever seen, makes the shame burn away, replaced by a needy thrum. His fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. “Yes?” he asks, his voice gentler now, his eyes searching mine.
I nod again, my throat too tight to speak.
He doesn’t make me wait. His hands slide under my ass, lifting me just enough to drag my underwear down my legs,tossing it aside. He stares at me for a long moment, his chest rising and falling, his length straining against his jeans. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on me again.
He moves his hands across my legs, massaging them, working his way up, his eyes never leaving mine. I stretch on the mattress like a lazy cat as he kisses and laps at my inner thigh slowly, giving me the chance to change my mind.
I don’t. My body is trembling, my pussy clenching around nothing. He chuckles, the sound dark and satisfied, as he crawls up my body, his weight pressing on me. His shirt is gone now, his chest bare, every ridge of muscle defined in the dim light filtering through the curtains. I reach for him, my fingers tracing the hard planes of his abs, the trail of hair leading down into his jeans. He hisses as I graze the bulge there, his arousal twitching beneath my touch.
“Curious enough to take me, sweetheart?” he teases, his voice rough.
I bite my lip. Nod.
His grin is all sin as he kicks off his jeans, his boxers following. Then he is naked, his cock thick and heavy, the head glistening with pre-cum. My mouth goes dry. The chest, the abs, those thighs. I drink him in, my eyes tracing over every sculpted ridge and curve, locking on his arousal. I’ve seen pictures of dicks before—in health classes, the occasional porn movie I’d watched to satisfy my curiosity, but nothing like this. He’s big, veined, real. He wraps his hand around himself, stroking slowly. “Careful, baby. Or I’ll think you want to play with me.”
I am not even sure I am shivering. Am I? I’ve shivered before, but this feels more like a quake, a tectonic shift in my body. Or maybe my soul.
