Right to the place where she was wet and aching for him. And then he devoured her. As if she was the most glorious feast he had ever set eyes on. Itwasglorious. She had never felt anything like this. She had never even imagined that pleasure like this was real.
She had thought it was the bastion of fake orgasms on late-night cable TV, and overly florid descriptions in the romance novels she had stolen from her mother’s bedroom when she was a teen, only to discard them because they had hurt too muchwhen she had realized what she wanted from Remy, and that she was unlikely to ever get it.
But now she knew. She knew. It wasn’t fake. It was very, very real. White-hot pleasure scalded her. Her desire built and built until she shattered. Until she clung to his shoulders and cried out his name.
Then he moved up to kiss her on the lips, and she heard the drawer to his nightstand open.
She thanked God that he had the presence of mind to protect them both, because she certainly didn’t.
She put her hands on his belt buckle, and undid it slowly. Then she helped him strip his jeans and underwear off. Until he was naked in front of her.
She just about lost her nerve then.
He was big and thick, gorgeous and glorious.
She had never seen a man quite like him. Of course, she had never seen a naked man before. Not in person.
She hadn’t imagined that she would find one quite so beautiful. But Remy was perfect. He was everything. Everything she had ever dreamed of and then some.
Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them back. She didn’t want to be emotional about this. It was difficult not to be.
She had gone from being so certain that this was something that would never happen, to living in the reality of it.
And finding out that he was better. More than she had ever hoped he could be.
He tore open the condom, and she watched as his large masculine hand guided it over his hard length.
Excitement coursed through her, along with just a little bit of fear.
But not enough that it was going to stop her from having this. From having him.
He kissed her, deep and long, put his hands between her thighs and stroked her until she was whimpering again.
“We’ll take it slow,” he said.
He pushed one finger inside her, then a second. He stretched her gently, and she arched against him, begging for more with a wordless plea.
She wanted him. All of him.
He withdrew from her, and then positioned himself between her legs, pressing the head of his arousal against the entrance to her body. He entered her slowly, inch by agonizing inch. And she gritted her teeth as he stretched her, as she took all of him.
She clung to his shoulders, dug her fingernails into his skin. It was perfect. It was wonderful.
It was everything.
And then, Remington Lane was inside her. Just as she had dreamed, but also more than she had ever dreamed. Because this was deeper, more profound than that impressionist painting in her mind. It was more than simple fantasy or sexual arousal. It was much more.
Better. Deeper.
But she did wonder if she had miscalculated. Because this was nothing half so simple as an event she could experience and draw a line under. Something that she could have once, then get over.
But it was too late now. And when he began to move inside her, she couldn’t regret it. Not one bit. Pleasure built in her core as he thrust deep, over and over again.
She could feel his control beginning to slip, and she wanted it to. She kissed his neck, his ear.
He shuddered.
On instinct, she wrapped her legs around his waist, so she could take him in even deeper.
