A smile curved her lips, but he wasn’t fooled. He saw the steel shining through. “Of course, darling.”
She turned and walked away from him, giving her hips an extra sway, a show for his amusement. He reached down and squeezed his erection, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Hey,” she said, turning and looking over her shoulder, her focus lowering to where his hand was wrapped around his shaft. “Not fair. If I can’t touch, you can’t.”
He lowered his hand, and she continued on to the bed, sweeping the curtain to the room aside and climbing on, leaning back against the pillows, her arms draped to the sides. She was inviting. She was certainly not a shy virgin.
He walked over to the bed and stood at the side, and she rose up onto her knees, her eyes locked with his. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his chest, and he wove his fingers through her hair. She moved lower, lips skimming his abs, blazing a trail farther down. Then her tongue flicked over the head of his arousal. The pleasure, the heat, seared through his skin, rocking him, threatening to destroy him. He tugged her hair, pulling her head backward.
“We’re not playing like that, agape,” he said, his voice strained. “Not tonight.”
“But you did it for me. I want to taste you.”
“No. Not tonight.” He was too close to the edge, his control too tenuous.
And his control was everything.
“What do you want then?”
“This.” He joined her on the bed and dipped his head, sucking one pink nipple deep into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the tightened bud. He ran through the instructions he’d read on how to pleasure a woman this way, text swimming before his closed eyes, the need for concentration the perfect counterbalance for the ache in his body.
And she was the one shaking now, her fingers locked in his hair. This was what he could handle. This was what he wanted.
He turned his attention to the other breast, sucking, licking, until she was panting beneath him, little sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. He raised his head and kissed her, hard, and she returned it.
He could feel her desperation now, her need.
“Are you ready?” he asked. In this he would ask, because he knew for her there would be pain. And he didn’t like that. Didn’t relish it.
“Yes. Oh, yes, please now.”
She parted her thighs and he settled between them taking himself in hand and pressing against the moist entrance to her body. Then he pulled back, replacing his erection with one finger, sliding it in slowly until she sighed.
She was so tight. So wet. And he nearly lost it then and there. He gritted his teeth and moved his finger within her, sliding his thumb over her clitoris.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“More?”
“Yes,” she said.
He added a second, stretching her gently, working them in and out of her until he felt her internal muscles tighten around him. His stomach was so tight he could hardly breathe; he was aching with the need to be in her. To feel her around him there. To be connected to her.
He withdrew his fingers, positioning himself again. He could feel her heat, the slick wetness of her desire against the head of his arousal. She kissed his neck, the corner of his mouth, her hands moving over his back. Touching. Tempting. Testing.
He tightened his hands into fists around the sheet as he slid inside of her, inch by inch, slowly, excruciatingly so, but more for him than for her. He was lost. For one blinding moment his mind was clear of everything. Of his need for restraint, control.
There was only this. Only her body. Only the feeling of her around him.
He pushed in deep, thrusting hard, and she gasped, a little note of pain in the sound that brought him sharply back to the present.
“Okay?” he asked.
She nodded, biting her lip. He bent his head and kissed her. “If you’re going to bite someone’s lip,” he said, “make it mine.”
He didn’t expect her to oblige him, but she did, pinning his lip tightly in her teeth. And the pain was just enough to take the edge off the pleasure, just enough to help him regain some of his control.
He thrust into her again, establishing a rhythm, her nails scraping against the bare skin of his back, his shoulders. Her touch inflaming, the pain anchoring, necessary.
“Harder,” he bit out, gripping her thigh and tugging it up over his hip as he continued to ride her. Her hold on his shoulders deepened, her nails digging in enough that he was sure she had to be drawing blood. “Harder,” he said again. And she obliged.