“Clara,” he whispers, and the sound of my name—wrecked, pleading—only makes me want more. “I want to make you feel so good.”
I lift my hips the smallest fraction, an answer without words. The weight of him presses harder against me, and the air rushes from my lungs. He feels impossibly big, impossibly right, and every part of me aches with the need to take him in.
I cling to him, to the tremor in his arms as he braces above me, to the desperate reverence burning in his eyes. His lips crash back to mine as he begins to push inside, slow and cautious. Pain sparks sharp and unfamiliar, tearing a gasp from my throat. He freezes, his face twisted in panic.
“Clara—you’re bleeding. I’m hurting you.”
I cup his face, holding him steady, forcing him to see me. “It’s alright. Don’t stop,please,Marcel, don’t stop.”
His mouth falls to my neck, murmuring apologies against my skin as he eases forward again, inch by inch, careful as if I might break. The sting fades, swallowed by something deeper, a fire beneath my skin. I shift beneath him, opening, welcoming him, as he finally begins to move.
The slow thrust of his hips sends a shock of pleasure through me, and I can’t hold back the plea. “Deeper, Marcel.Please.”
He grips my thigh and lifts it, driving deeper, and my cry fills the space between us. His head drops to my shoulder, his breath ragged. “Christ, you’re perfect. So tight, so warm—I swear, Clara, I could die right here inside you and call it heaven.”
The rhythm builds, awkward and unsteady at first, then hungry, both of us learning each other in gasps and trembling touches. My nails dig into his back, urging him closer, faster, needing more of him. Every thrust drags me higher, until theworld itself narrows to nothing but the feel of him moving inside me, the sound of his voice—half curse, half worship—telling me I was made for him.
The rhythm steadies, his body heavy and trembling against mine, dragging heat through me until my chest rises with sharp, shallow breaths. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes open, watching me as though he’s memorizing every touch, every gasp.
“Tell me,” he rasps, his voice splintering. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Full,” I whisper, tears pricking hot in my eyes. “Like you’re everywhere inside me. Like you’re claiming parts of me I didn’t know belonged to you.”
His moans fill the room, while his face rests against my cheek. His hips drive deeper, and my nails claw down his back. The ache shifts into a pulse of pleasure that builds and builds until I can’t keep still beneath him. My body tightens, trembling against his as a whimper falls from my lips.
“Don’t hold it back,” he gasps, his hand finding mine, lacing our fingers together tight. “I want all of it. I want to watch you come undone because of me. I want to know what you sound like when you come.”
The words tip me over. The rush hits fast, wild, rolling through me like fire and flood all at once. My thighs clamp around his hips as my body clenches around him, and I cry out, helpless, wrecked. The sight of it shatters his restraint—his thrusts grow harder, rougher, his breath torn into ragged sounds against my throat.
“God, Clara—” His voice breaks, raw and desperate. “You’re so tight, I can’t—” He chokes off, driving deep, as if to fuse us together.
“Mark me, Marcel,” I whisper fiercely, my lips at his ear. “Come so deep inside me that no one will ever replace you.”
He spills inside me with a guttural cry of my name, his whole body trembling as he empties himself, thrust after thrust until there’s nothing left but his weight collapsing against me.
He struggles for every breath as he wraps himself around me, “I’m yours. I’ll never belong to anyone but you.”
We cling together in the aftershocks, our tears mingling where our cheeks press, our chests rising in jagged unison. His lips brush the crown of my head as he whispers, “I love you, Firefly.”
“I’ll love you forever, Cowboy.”
And I know, as I hold him tighter, our souls will be tied forever.
Devotion
Marcel 1986
Clara trembles beneath my touch,but her eyes never leave mine, and it guts me—this trust, this need, after so much lost time.
When she’s laid bare before me, I pause. I drink her in, every curve, every scar, every line of the woman God gave back to me. My throat tightens with the words clawing up from the ache in my chest.
“I never tasted you, Clara.” My voice is hoarse. “All these years, I’ve dreamed of it. I won’t leave this earth without knowing how you taste.”
Her lips part, her breath unsteady, but she doesn’t protest. She only nods, her hand trembling as it slips into my hair when I lower myself between her thighs.
The first touch of my tongue against her makes her cry out, sharp and desperate, as if years of longing just broke free in a single sound. I hold her hips steady, but she still writhes, pressing closer, her thighs quivering around my shoulders. The taste of her is salt and heat and home, and I swear I could live forever with nothing but this.
I lick into her slowly at first, savoring, learning her, but the way she clutches my hair and gasps my name drives me to greed.My tongue circles her clit, my lips pulling, sucking, desperate to memorize every shiver that moves through her body.
