I lower my mouth to one nipple and suck.
Her head falls back. The guarded look vanishes. She moans, low and stunned, and I know then that every fool before me failed because they brought hunger without reverence. They treated her body like a question they did not care to solve. I will spend my life answering it.
I draw her nipple deeper, tongue circling, teeth grazing with careful pressure. She arches into me, slick scent blooming again almost at once. My fingers slide back between her thighs. She opens before I ask.
"Again?" she whispers, half alarmed.
"Again."
"I just—"
"I know."
My fingers enter her, easier now. Her body accepts me with a wet pull that makes my vision flash. I work her slowly while I feast on her breasts, one and then the other, until her hips roll into my hand and the sheets twist beneath her fingers. She can’t hide her pleasure anymore. The aphrodisiac has stripped that from her. Or maybe the trust has. Either way, she gives me every sound, every tremor, every broken breath.
The second orgasm takes her more slowly, deep and inevitable. It’s in the grip of her pussy around my fingers, in the way her heels press into the mattress, in the widening of her eyes when she realizes there is no stopping it. She comes staring at me, mouth open, my name caught in her throat.
I kiss that silence from her lips.
She tastes herself on me and shudders. Her hands slide to my face, then my ears, and she holds me there while the kiss deepens. This time, there is no shock when my tongue meets hers. Only surrender. Her slick dampens my hand again, and the scent of her nearly drags me over the edge without being inside her.
I break the kiss and brace above her. "This might hurt for a moment."
"I know."
"I will go slowly. If you tell me to stop, I stop."
"Skylor." Her fingers stroke the base of my ear, gentler now. "I trust you."
The words enter me more deeply than my cock ever will. I position myself at her entrance. Her slick coats my head at once, hot and slippery, but her body is still tight. I press forwardslowly. Her lips grip the head, resisting, then yielding by a fraction. She inhales sharply. I stop.
Her nails press into my shoulders. "Not pain. Just..." She takes a breath that tremors on my cock. “Stretch. A lot of stretch."
“That’s okay. You can take it. Breathe into it.”
She slaps my back. "Don't sound so calm."
"I am not calm," I growl. My gaze drops between us, and the sight almost ruins me. Her body struggling to take my width. Her slick shining on my skin. My base thickening already, too eager for the knot, I will not force until she is ready.
Her eyes lift to mine. "You're shaking."
"Yes."
"Good."
A laugh should come. It does not. The look in her eyes is too open. Too brave. I push another inch inside. Her face tightens, and I kiss her at once. Not to distract. To stay with her. To feed her more of my taste, and the mate aphrodisiac. It works through her, softening what fear tries to close. Her thighs loosen around my hips. Her fingers return to my ears, stroking slow circles that I have to endure without thrusting.
"Breathe for me," I say. "Stop plotting my death."
"You only die if you stop," she growls.
There is my Beatrice. I kiss her again and press deeper. The barrier of her virginity gives with a small, tight resistance. Her body tenses around me. My arms lock, and my breath freezes in my chest while she adjusts. Her eyes close. A damp shine gathers on her lashes but does not fall.
"Beatrice."
"Give me a sec here, big guy." Her voice is thin but certain. "Just wait."
So I wait.
