She squirms around, her perfectly plump arse brushing against my erection, forcing me to bite back a groan. I spend so many mornings with this throb of need inside me. This tension. A need for release. Morning glory is only fun if your girl jumps on it and gyrates around, but she isn’t ready for such a ride.
I’m cool with that.
Slowly, I trail my fingers up her arms, awakening little bumps on her. She moans, and I long for that moan to feather against my lips. Gently, I encourage her to roll over in her sweet, sleepy state. Her perfect little nose touches mine and those lips, slightly pleated at the top, a few light brown beauty spots adoring the corners, skates across mine.
I bring my hand up to her face. Gently, I memorise every feature with my fingertips. I circle her closed eyes, her long, thick black lashes tickling me. Stroking between her brows, I move down the length of the most incredible nose, which is delicately tipped at the end. Placing my knuckles on her cheek, I stroke her soft skin.
I love touching this face.
Staring at it.
She is mine.
She was mine the moment I saw her five months ago.
She’ll be mine ‘til the day I die.
But I’ll be hers for even longer.
Fuck, I’m a romantic dipshit.
“Bronson,” she murmurs, her tongue dipping out of her mouth, licking the arid skin covering it. My gaze drops to her tits. More than a handful and in a white singlet, visible and plump and womanly. As my cock knocks against me like it has a mind of its own, thrumming for relief, my hand moves down to her chest. I squeeze her left breast, flicking the little bud on top that I know is a beautiful light shade of brown.
She winces slightly, and I frown in response.Did I hurt her?I let go of her tit, studying her face, seeing that her brows are furrowed. As her eyes bat open, orbs of amber stare up at me through long lowered lashes. Her arms suddenly go to her abdomen, cradling it protectively.
What the fuck?
I growl at the tension in her face. “What’s wrong, baby?” She hides her face and curls in on herself. Unease rushes up my spine as I feel her pain in my bones, in my marrow. “Baby?”
Groaning her discomfort, she says, “What is it with you and growling. You got a fucking invisible lion with you at all times or what?”
“Don’t deflect, baby.” I cup her chin, tilting it up until I have her eyes on me. “What the fucks going on with your stomach?”
“Don’t.” She releases her stomach to quickly cover her face with her palms, groaning into them. “Just don’t say anything. Forget you are seeing anything. I don’t want to say.”
My spine stiffens. “What the fuck happened?”
She drops her hands, glaring at me with exasperation. “Don’t go getting all crazy. No one hurt me, Bron. I’ve just got. . .cramps.”
I frown. “Like. . .”
“From my period, idiot!”
I exhale fast. “Fuck.” Shaking my head with relief, I grin at her. “Baby, don’t be embarrassed about that.” She groans again and I fucking hate it. “Take your shirt off.”
She scrunches up her nose, adorable little wrinkles forming along the bridge. “No. I don’t want to.” Her cheeks glow pink, showing me just how vulnerable she is at this moment. How fragile. It is the best thing I could ever see in her. It is trust. . . but it’s the worst thing she could ever see in me. It would mean I couldn’t handle her trust, couldn’t look after her.
“I promise I’ll make you feel better,” I assure her.
She sighs. Her long, elegant fingers find the hem of her singlet just above a soft flat stomach. I try not to groan my pleasure as she leisurely glides the material up over her head. Her breasts bounce free, the full size of them enough to make me ignite with heat.
“Oh my God.” I grin at her and the dark hue of crimson coating her cheeks. She releases a stained giggle when I wiggle my brows. Desperate to take away her pain, I dip down to her abdomen and prop myself up on my elbows. I gently stroke her lower stomach, peppering kisses along it. She squirms at first but then starts to breathe deeper, seemingly allowing herself to relax.
She hums and I try to ignore how the sound resonates in my cock as much as it does in my heart. “That feels nice. It feels a little better. How can that be?”
As I tenderly stroke her soft tanned skin, I say, “Xander used to get these wicked migraines when he was younger. So I would massage his head sometimes. He said that the feeling took over the pain inside. Like, adding a pleasurable sensation right over the pain somehow dulled it. Is it working? I’ll do this all day if you need.”
A little chuckle leaves her through a sigh. “It is working. . . but I’m so embarrassed.”