The swell of her hip.
“Mine.”
She trembles.
“Devon.”
I settle between her thighs and press a kiss to the inside of one knee.“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”
She shakes her head immediately.“Don’t stop.”
I smile against her skin.“Good answer.”
I take my time with her because she deserves it.Because she’s sore and new to this, and because I want every touch to prove something.I want her to feel wanted in every kiss, every stroke of my hand, every whispered word against her skin.
I kiss her thighs, her stomach, her breasts.I worship every inch of her until she’s restless beneath me, her breath coming faster, her fingers twisting in the sheets.
When my hand slides between her legs, she gasps.
I freeze.“Pain?”
“No,” she says quickly.“Just… sensitive.”
“Too much?”
“No.”Her hips lift a little.“Please.”
That word almost ends me.I touch her slowly, gently, watching her face for every reaction.She’s warm and slick and so responsive that my control frays almost immediately.Her lashes flutter.Her lips part.Her nails scrape over my arms.
“That’s it,” I murmur.“Let me take care of you.”
She whimpers, and I lower my mouth to hers, swallowing the sound as I work her higher.I don’t rush.I don’t push.I keep it slow until her body relaxes fully beneath me, until she’s moving with my hand instead of holding herself still.
When she comes, it’s soft and sweet, her body arching into mine, my name breaking on her lips.I’ve heard bombs go off that didn’t hit me this hard.I kiss her through it, my hand slowing until she sinks back into the mattress, boneless and glowing.
“You okay?”
She nods, breathing hard.“Yes.”
I reach for the nightstand, grabbing a condom.
Her hand catches my wrist.“Wait.”
Every part of me goes still.“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”Her cheeks turn pink.“I just want to touch you first.”
My brain short-circuits.“Suri.”
“I didn’t really get to last night.”Her fingers slide over my chest, tentative but curious.“I want to.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever been more turned on in my life.
I sit back on my heels and let her look at me.Her gaze moves over my chest, my abs, the scars on my skin.There’s no horror in her expression.No pity.Just tenderness.
When she touches the scar near my ribs, my breath hitches.
“Does it hurt?”she asks softly.
