"I want to hear you say it."
"I want you inside me. I want to feel you. I want..." She swallows. Her hand finds my hair, fingers threading through it. "I want you to make me yours. Completely. Only yours. Never anyone else’s."
“You’ve never had sex?”
“No.”
The realization registers in my brain just before it short circuits with the new information. She saw me when she was nineteen, and then waited until she had the opportunity to be mine.
I put my mouth on her.
She tastes like nothing I've ever experienced, warm and sweet and entirely, devastatingly real. I learn her with my tongue, slowly at first, mapping the places that make her gasp and the ones that make her moan and the one, precise spot that makes her fist her hand in my hair and pull until my scalp stings.
She comes apart under my mouth with a sound that breaks the careful silence of the house, a cry that is my name and a plea, all at once. I feel her body arch and shake, and I hold her hips in my hands, pressing her down against the mattress, keeping her exactly where I want her.
When the tremors slow, I rise up over her. Her eyes are glazed and dark and desperate.
"Rovin. Please."
I strip what's left of my clothing. Her eyes drop to my body, taking in every detail, and her lips part at what she sees.
I settle between her thighs. The head of my cock presses against her, and she is wet and hot and ready. I have to close my eyes for a moment because the sensation is almost too much to process.
"Look at me," I say.
She does.
I push inside her.
The sound she makes shatters me. It is small and sharp and full of a relief so profound it sounds almost like grief, like she has been waiting for this exact thing, this exact moment, this exact fullness, for her entire life.
I hold still inside her. She is tight around me, her body adjusting, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I watch her face and I see every micro-expression, every flicker of discomfort giving way to pleasure, every breath she takes to steady herself.
"Okay?" I ask, and my voice is wrecked.
"Yes," she whispers. "It’s even better than I imagined."
Fuck. Sheimaginedthis?
I begin to move. Slowly, at first. I set a rhythm that is smooth and deep, pulling nearly all the way out and then sinking back in, watching her face as I do it. Each thrust draws a sound from her, and each sound tightens the coil in my chest until I think I might come apart from the inside out.
Her legs wrap around me. Her hips rise to meet mine. She matches my rhythm with an intuition that stuns me, as though her body already knows mine. As though we have been doing this in some parallel existence for years.
I press my forehead against hers. Our breath mingles, hot and ragged, and I can see my own reflection in her eyes.
"You feel like everything," she says, and her voice cracks on the last word.
I increase the pace. She gasps and clutches at my back, and I feel her nails score my skin, the sharp sting of it drives me higher.
"Tell me," I say against her mouth. "Tell me what you came to the dinner for."
"You." Her hips roll against mine, meeting every thrust. "This. Six years..." she breaks off on a gasp.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want your name." She is panting, her body straining against mine. "I want your children. I want to belong to you."
The words detonate inside me. I grip her hip with one hand and her jaw with the other, and I kiss her, hard and consuming, and I drive into her with everything I have.
