Would be something she would never be able to recover from.
He moved his thumbs over her nipples, and she gasped, arching her back, pressing her bare breasts to his chest. Oh, his chest. And suddenly, a surge of excitement went through her, because she had been thinking about being naked in front of him, and processing whether or not she was going to be embarrassed. But she hadn’t thought about seeing him naked.
And that...
She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his boxer shorts, and pulled them down. Throwing the covers back, and exposing his body to her gaze.
“Well, holy shit,” she said.
“That’s not exactly a song lyric,” he said, his voice gruff.
“You’re really hot,” she said.
“Glad you approve.”
She reached out tentatively, and wrapped her fingers around his thick arousal. He was glorious. Beautiful.
She squeezed him.
“Fuck,” he said.
“See, it is a song. Just one only we’re ever going to listen to.”
He chuckled, and pulled her against him. He kissed her neck, down her collarbone, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. And it was better than just putting her fingertips on his cheek so that she could feel his stubble; his whiskers burned all over the tender skin of her chest.
It was intimate. Real and intense in a way she had never imagined this could be.
She felt like all her desires were somewhat childish. Or something she didn’t quite understand. She got it now. She didn’t know why the Tansey before this moment had been afraid. That girl hadn’t understood. How right it would feel. How perfect.
She hadn’t known just how wonderful it could be. She hadn’t understood.
How easy, how right it was, when it was the person. The one.
But he knew her. The dark and ugly things. Her petty little heart and how much she wanted revenge on her father, how profoundly she’d been hurt by him.
How afraid she was. He knew those things. He knew those things and he seemed to just like her anyway. The way that she was.
And when he took the rest of her clothes off, and put his hand between her thighs, she cried out, not just because of the pleasure, but because of the overwhelming sensation of the emotion that was flooding her body.
Because it was deeper than desire. More than arousal.
He pushed a finger inside of her and she flexed her hips, trying to acclimate to the unfamiliar sensation. She liked it; it was just not...not something she’d experienced before.
He put a second finger in and began to thrust in and out of her gently, allowing her body to get used to him.
And then, very suddenly, she felt pleasure break over her like a wave, her internal muscles pulsing around him. She cried out, and he withdrew from her, then put his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them, slow and leisurely, like he was savoring the taste of her. And she shivered. “I have been waiting for this,” he said.
He moved down her body and grabbed hold of her thighs, then he pushed them out wide, lowering his head to her center and tasting her deep. Long. She clung to him, forking her fingers through his hair and holding him there. Arching her body against him as she writhed with need. He pushed his fingers back inside her again as he teased her with his lips, his tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do a damn thing but submit to the onslaught of pleasure.
She lost herself. In the absolute wave of need. In the wildness of her desire. And as she lay there spent, he moved away from her, going into the adjoining bathroom for a moment and returning with a box of condoms.
She was torn between...indignation, a lot of questions and relief.
“I’m an optimist,” he said, by way of explanation. “And anyway, it’s better safe than sorry.”
“Well. I guess that is true.”
He chuckled, tearing the box open, and then taking a strip out, tearing an individual condom from the strip. And then opening it quickly. He took care of the necessities, and then joined her back on the bed. He pressed his forehead to hers, and kissed her, deep and long. “Ready?”
She nodded, words deserting her entirely. He pressed himself inside of her, inch by inch, filling her. And the emotion that swamped her was almost too much to bear. It was beautiful. Wonderful. And so much more. This wasn’t just about pleasure. Not just about satisfaction. Flint was inside of her. And she felt like something more than she’d ever been before. Complete in a way. In touch with parts of herself that she had never given a whole lot of thought to.
She had been right to be afraid of this. It was too much. It was transformative. She had been right to be afraid of it, but now, she embraced it. Wholly. Completely. With all that she was.
He began to move, deep, decisive thrusts, and she clung to him, until she began to feel the rhythm, find it. Arching her hips against his each and every time he moved against her.
She surrendered to it. To him. And when her climax hit, she could scarcely breathe. It was too much. And not enough all at once. Overwhelming, leaving her storm-tossed and just right where she needed to be.
With him. She was wild, and fractured, but safe all at once, because she was in his arms, and she knew that she could trust him.
And when his own climax hit, when his control fractured, his movements becoming hard and erratic, a growl rising up inside of him, she thought it might almost be better than her own pleasure. This man’s pleasure. This man coming apart because of her.
Because he might be her first, but he’d had any number of women. And that he could still fall apart over her mattered.
And she didn’t think of her mother’s dire warnings then. Because it was different. He was different.
And they were different together. Maybe different than anyone had ever been.
The euphoria of it all carried her off to sleep. And she just let him hold her.
