She angled her head and caught his lips, kissing him deep, tasting him, reveling in the slide of his tongue against hers. For too long she’d had hazy. Gentle. Life on a near flat line with barely a blip, and now she felt like she was going to explode with the intensity of this encounter. With the rawness of it.
The rock at her back, the man at her front, the sound of the waves just outside the cave walls. It was sensory overload in the most perfect way. An infusion of sensation, bursts of flavor on her tongue. Years of bread and water dissolving into a sensual feast that she didn’t think she would ever get enough of.
He forked his fingers through her hair and tugged, hard, guiding her away from the wall, down onto the blanket, his body covering hers, his lean hips settling between her legs. She bucked against him, chasing the promise of release that sparked through her with every touch of his body against hers.
He pushed her dress up, tugged her panties down to her knees, his hand at the apex of her thighs, thumb deftly finding the sensitive bud there. She didn’t have time to be shocked or embarrassed, didn’t have time to do anything but simply revel in the pleasure he knew how to give.
“You want me,” he said, his voice feral, his words barely intelligible.
“Yes,” she said, kissing his neck. “Yes.”
The blanket was bunched up underneath them, only offering a partial shield between them and the ground, but she didn’t care. It added to the intensity, to the depth of it all.
He slipped a finger inside of her and the wholly foreign sensation rocketed her to the brink of orgasm.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yes,” she said, pleasure rocketing through her as he slid his thumb over her clitoris again.
“And you’re sure this is what you want?”
“I need it,” she said. “I need you. I need it like this.”
“It’s not going to be romantic,” he said, abandoning her body, reaching for the closure on his pants and unbuttoning them, then tugging his shirt over his head. “It’s probably going to be fast.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
“Theos, yes. Because if I have a soul left, this will damn it for sure.”
She shook her head. “No. It won’t. How could that be true? How can that be true when I feel like if I don’t have you I’ll die?”
He kissed her lips, gentle, searching, at odds with the ferocity of the moment. “That’s absolute proof that I’m right,” he said. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
The blunt head of him probed at the entrance to her body and she tensed for a second before he started to push inside. The farther in he went, the more she relaxed. It didn’t hurt. It just felt...new. And wonderful.
He put his hand under her bottom and lifted it, thrusting into her all the way. A harsh sound escaped from his lips, along with a curse that sounded more like a prayer.
He pushed her dress up higher, exposing her breasts, lowering his head and sucking a nipple deep in his mouth as he moved inside of her, driving her higher, faster than she’d imagined possible.
It seemed natural, having him like this, moving with him, finding her pace. She locked her legs around his lean hips and arched against him, meeting his every thrust, nails digging into his shoulders.
He lowered his head, his movements harder, faster now, pleasure sparking in her, each thrust bringing the bursts of white heat closer together, turning it into a continuous flame that burned through her whole body, threatening to consume her as he ravaged her, pushed her to a point she hadn’t imagined possible.
Xander growled, teeth closing down on her shoulder, his pelvis hitting hard as he froze above her and shuddered out his release. The pain ramped her pleasure up higher, the overflow of sensation an utter shock. Beautiful. Blinding.
And when the fire burned out, it was only the sound of their breathing echoing off the walls of the cave.
A chill stole through her blood, a slow trickle of ice that replaced the heat that had come before. And it hit her that she was lying on the floor, outdoors, kind of, almost, with Xander on top of her.
Her dress was still on, his pants only pushed down just past his hips. That she’d let him—no, begged him—to take her like this. When they weren’t married. When they hardly knew each other. When they certainly didn’t love each other.
He moved off her, standing and tugging his pants up, his movements fluid as he dressed. It all spoke of his experience—experience he’d gained with other women.
Anger curled in the pit of her stomach. Anger she had no right to feel because she knew his past, she knew something of his experiences, and she’d just benefitted, mightily, from those experiences. It had been...amazing. Physically.