Page 105 of Saved By the CEO

All of him.

The lamp beside the bed throws warm light over his shoulders, his chest, the hard lines of his stomach.

“It’s unfair,” I say. “No one should be allowed to look like this.”

His mouth twitches.

Then he lowers himself over me again, and the humor disappears under the weight of him, the heat of him, the impossible reality of his body between my thighs.

“Condom?” he asks hoarsely.

“I’m on birth control,” I say.

His eyes darken.

One hand slips between us as he lines himself up, and I feel the head of him glide through my wetness. My breath catches. His mouth brushes my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

“I will.”

Only then does he push into me, slowly. So slowly that the stretch feels endless, my body opening around him inch by inch. I gasp and grab at his shoulders.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yes.” My voice comes out high and desperate. “Please don’t stop.”

A broken sound leaves him, and then he moves the last few inches until he is fully inside me.

For a second, neither of us moves.

The room is quiet except for our breathing. His forehead lowers to mine, and I stare up at him, overwhelmed by thefullness, the heat, him, us. His hand is braced beside my head, the other still curled around my hip.

Then he starts to move.

Slow at first. Deep. Careful in a way that feels almost like reverence, which is a truly insane word to be thinking while Andrew Bennett is naked on top of me, but there we are.

Fuck.

It’s better than I imagined.

And I imagined a lot.

For a while, there is only that. The weight of him over me. The heat of his breath against my cheek. The steady rhythm of him moving inside me, our bodies finding each other again and again.

I hold on to his shoulders and let myself feel every impossible second of it, because part of me still can’t quite believe this is happening. That this is Andrew. That this is me. That we are here, in his bed, with our clothes on the floor and his paused movie still waiting uselessly in the other room.

His hand slides up my side, over my ribs, then back down to my hip, holding steady as he moves.

I shift beneath him, angling my hips until his body presses against me exactly right, and his breath catches.

“There?”

“Yeah,” I manage.

His grip tightens on my hip, and he keeps that angle, moving into me again with the same perfect pressure.

My head tips back into the pillow.