Page 21 of Protected By Razor

For a second I think I’ve gone too far. And then his eyes go very dark, and his hands slide down and settle obediently on my thighs, and he looks up at me and says, quiet: “Go on then.”

I don’t know who this woman is. I like her.

I kiss him until I’m breathless. I kiss my way down his jaw, the side of his throat, the hard line of his collarbone. I pay attention to his breathing the way he paid attention to mine. When I trace the ink over his ribs with my fingertips he makes a small sound I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to make, and it’s the most powerful I’ve ever felt in my life.

I sit up. I shift my weight. I push his boxers down, clumsy, and he helps me because my hands have started trembling a little — not scared, just alive — and then there’s nothing between us.

He doesn’t move. He’s letting me. He’s watching me like I’m something he can’t quite believe he gets to watch.

I lift up and take him in my hand and I line us up, and he inhales sharply through his teeth and his hands flex on my thighs, and I lower myself onto him.

Slow.

He goes very, very still.

It’s different from this angle. Deeper. I can feel every inch of him as I sink down, and when I’m finally flush against him I have to stop and breathe because my whole body is shaking. His hands are on my hips. He’s not moving. He’s letting me have this.

“Look at me,” he says.

I look at him.

His jaw is locked. He’s holding himself so still I can see the muscles in his forearms jumping with the effort.

“You’re in charge,” he says, quiet. “Take what you want.”

Something inside me breaks open.

I take what I want.

I move slowly at first, learning the shape of it, finding the angle that makes me gasp. His hands stay on my hips — guiding, not controlling — and when I look down at him, his face is undone in a way I’ve never seen. Lips parted. Eyes on mine. His chest rising and falling fast.

I go faster.

My hands brace on his chest. I ride him, and I watch his face, and I listen to the sounds he’s making — the low groans, the quiet curses, my name — and I feel a kind of power I didn’t know my body could hold.

I’m gasping. I’m close. I can feel it building.

“Baby,” he says. “Baby, I need??—”

“What?”

“I need to move. Tell me I can move.”

“Yes.”

He flips me.

It happens so fast I lose my breath. One second I’m on top and in the next I’m on my back and he’s above me, braced on his forearms, and he’s looking down at me with something ferocious in his face.

“My turn,” he says.

He moves.

Harder this time. Deeper. He’s watching my face the whole way and his hand comes up to my throat — not gripping, just resting, thumb against my jaw, grounding me — and I have never in my life felt as wanted as I feel under him right now.

I come apart with his name on my mouth and his eyes on my face, and he follows me a breath later with a groan torn out of him, and when he collapses over me I wrap my arms around him and hold on.

We don’t speak for a long time.