Page 334 of Mad Girl

Your eyes searched mine. “I’ve never done this before.”

We fell back onto the mattress, my legs still locked around your torso, and you kissed me everywhere. Hot, molten kisses.

Kisses meant to savor. To worship. To claim.

The hollow of my throat—you lingered there a moment, breathing me in, letting your mouth rest where my pulse raced. Over my collarbones—hot and searing, branding yourself into my skin. Down, down—lips dragging, slower than I could stand. A bite to the curve of my breast—I sucked in a breath and arched into it, softly moaning when you soothed the sting with your tongue, as if to silently tell me, This is mine.

The delicate slope of my ribcage—you kissed that, too. A kiss at the dip above my navel—tender, featherlight. Another at my hipbone—rougher, weighted, hungrier than the rest.

I panted, barely hanging on, growing more impatient, fingers curled tightly in your hair, holding you to me.

“Casey,” I whimpered.

You groaned against my skin, tracing my birth mark with your tongue. I swore as you yanked my underwear to the side and settled your mouth between my legs.

“Okay, this is—we can—later.” I fisted the sheet. “Hurry.”

“Stop rushing me.” You nipped at the inside of my thigh.

“You’re killing me.”

“Dramatic.”

“Please.” I tried writhing away from your mouth, but you jerked me back. It’s not that I didn’t want your tongue—just that I wanted something else exponentially more. “I want you inside me. Now.”

You slowly lifted up, eyes sparkling black.

So that’s how I got you to do what I wanted. I made a mental note.

Finally, you removed your pants—my underwear, too—then fumbled with the condom, cursing under your breath, hand shaking too much to get it right on the first try. My heart pounded as I waited, impatient, your arm braced beside my head. You hesitated long enough to find my gaze again before gently pushing in.

The pain shot through me, sharp and immediate, a burning stretch that stole my breath. I dug my nails into your side, holding on, anchoring myself. Not because it hurt too much. Because it hurt just right. Because it was you, giving me something I’d always longed for. A pain that I could have without guilt or the crushing burden of shame.

My breath caught with every inch. Yours hitched hard against my neck. You said my name—quiet, broken, torn from your throat. And that undid me more than the pain. That sound. That moment. You, buried inside me and coming undone.

Then you moved, and my body tensed, desperately clinging to the burn, riding that wave as long as I could.

And you felt me doing it. Because of course you did.

“Relax,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to mine, and I obeyed for once, forcing my body to let go. “That’s it, love.” You rewarded me with a kiss, your tongue flicking my top lip, light but grounding. “Breathe.”

Love? Normally I would’ve teased you, laughed, made some quip to lighten the mood. But I couldn’t. That unexpected slip—the way your voice turned to gravel when you said it—was one of your many pieces, and I wanted them all. Almost as much as I wanted to hold onto this: the sharp sting of you, still claiming space inside of me.

But then the pain eased, already slipping away, fading too fast, gone too soon⁠—

And this other feeling was…

This was…

God.

For once in my life, words completely eluded me. There were no words, no quips, no invasive thoughts. Just your breath mixing with mine, the tremble of your thumb brushing my cheek, the gentle bump of our noses with each thrust, and the harsh beat of your heart when I pressed my hand to it. The ripple of your muscles as you moved above me, and how beautiful that was. The soft scrape of your lips as you answered my moan with a more ragged one of your own.

I loved the fullness, the electric shock of it, how it touched something deep inside of me, and that thing wasn’t bad. It wasn’t even wholly me. It was us. Total surrender and souls colliding and all that lame shit I liked to make fun of but secretly wanted and never thought I deserved to have.

But I had it, anyway. Despite asking you for that dark, twisted thing.

Your rhythm faltered. “Look at me,” you ordered softly. “Stay right here.”