Instead, it sends a flush of pride through me.
Slowly, hesitantly, I lift my hands, placing them on his chest. His skin is hot, the muscles hard and unyielding beneath my palms. I can feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart, a rhythm that seems to echo the frantic beat of my own.
My fingers trail over a scar on his ribs, a faint, silvery line against his tanned skin. A story I'll never know. A world I can only glimpse.
His gaze is on my face, watching me, reading my every expression.
He wants this. He wants my hands on him, my eyes on him. He wants my surrender to be active, not passive.
My hands continue their exploration, tracing the lines of his stomach, the hard planes of his chest. I’m memorizing him, learning the topography of his body.
He lowers his head, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but he surprises me. His lips trail down my jaw, over my throat, to the sensitive skin of my shoulder. His teeth graze my skin, a sharp, stinging nip that has me gasping, my back arching.
My hands fly to his shoulders, my fingers digging into his muscles, holding on for dear life.
His voice is a low, dark purr against my skin. "That's it. Let me feel you."
His hips press down on mine, the thick, hard length of that cock sliding through my folds, teasing me, tormenting me. A choked whimper escapes my lips, a desperate, needy sound.
He's taking his time, drawing this out, making me wait, making me want. He's a master of control, and my body ishis instrument, and he's playing me with a skill that is both terrifying and exhilarating.
He shifts, and the head of him is at my entrance again, nudging, pressing. He’s not just teasing me now. This is happening. Now.
My body tenses, a flinch of primal fear.
"Relax," he murmurs again, his lips brushing against my ear. "I'll make it feel good."
His words are a soothing balm, a dark, hypnotic spell. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to unclench, to yield.
I’m giving him my body.
I’m giving him my trust.
He pushes forward, a slow, deliberate invasion.
The pressure is immense, a stretching, burning sensation that has me crying out, my nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, and he’s walking it with a master’s precision.
"Shh," he murmurs, his lips trailing over my face, kissing away the tears I didn't realize I was crying. "It's just a little pressure."
He pushes forward again, a slow, inexorable slide, and I realize he's right. It's not really pain that I'm feeling, just anoverwhelming sensation, a feeling of being utterly, completely filled.
He stills, giving me a moment to adjust to his size, to the sheer, alien presence of him inside me.
He meets resistance. My body's last, desperate defense. He stills, his gaze locking with mine. His eyes are dark, intense, a swirling vortex of lust and something else, something deeper.
His fingers find my clit again, coaxing my body into accepting him, welcoming him. It's a distraction, a wave of sensation that washes away the last of my resistance.
My lids flutter.
"Eyes on me," he commands, his voice low and husky.
My gaze locks with his.
He pushes forward, a final, decisive thrust, then he's fully inside me, buried to the hilt.
His eyes fill my vision. Deep, dark pools that drown me.
"Erica," he breathes my name, his lips brushing against mine.
