“I know,” I said. “But I want to try. You’ll stop if it hurts too much.” I phrased it as a statement rather than a question, knowing what he’d said but still afraid he’d force me to endure more than I could.
“Yes,” he said instantly.
I nodded, but I couldn’t say anything around the lump in my throat. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t scared, but I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t curious, either.
He reached past me into the bedside dresser, watching my expression all the while.
My breath caught when he came out with a bottle of lube, and I couldn’t help but be worried about the idea of his thick fingers pressing inside of me. I didn’t think he was going to make me prepare myself for the intrusion this time, and if he did…
Well, if he did, he wasn’t getting any today.
He kissed me again and again, and I almost didn’t notice when one slicked-up finger drifted down to part my ass cheeks. I was very aware of it as that finger circled my hole, and there was a part of me that wanted to put the brakes on all of this.
I didn’t.
Instead, I lifted my hips a little, giving him more room to maneuver.
One moment twisted into another as his fingers opened me up for him. I lost myself again as they brushed that golden spot inside of me again and again, curving and shifting so he could bring me pleasure even as bright spots of pain dotted my awareness here and there.
I lost myself to the feeling.
I lost myself to him.
22
GRIFFIN
By the time my cock pushed inside of him, he was moaning beneath me, writhing in wanton abandon. I took my time, determined not to hurt him, and he shuddered as I claimed inch after inch until I was completely buried within him.
I held myself above him, breathing hard, and he panted as he looked up at me.
“Are you okay?” I asked, leaning down to catch his lips in another kiss.
He nodded, though his features were a little strained. “I’m getting used to it,” he said, squirming a little and sending shockwaves through me as he shifted.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
He nodded again, and I gave a tentative thrust. He hissed out a breath but didn’t tell me to stop, and I withdrew until I could thrust into him again. The first few looked painful, but after that… His whimpers became moans, and his fingernails dug into my back as he clutched me.
I groaned. “Do it, kitten.”
“You want me to scratch you up?” he asked, lightly running his nails along my skin.
“Yes,” I growled. “Leave your marks on me.”
He obliged the next time I sheathed myself inside of him, nails swiping my back and leaving bright hot lines of pain in their wake.
It felt amazing, and I encouraged him to do it more, do it harder. I started to pick up the pace, watching him to make sure it wasn’t too much,
His expression never faltered from its look of pleasure and delight as he dug harder and harder into my back until I was sure he’d leave lines of blood in his wake.
I didn’t care. I wanted him to mark me, wanted to have the reminder that he’d been there and we’d been together the next time I thought it might be a dream.
He did, and I lost myself in one stroke in the next, filling him over and over until, finally…
Finally, I spilled into him, marking him with my seed every bit as much as he marked me with his fingernails — both of us seeking to leave a lasting impression upon the other, though one would be more visible than the other. We’d know, though. We’d both know just what had happened.
And what would happen again and again, if I had anything to say about it.
