My eyes stung. I didn't wipe them.
"You’re shaking," she whispered against my temple.
"I know." My voice was wrecked. "I can’t stop."
"You don’t have to stop." She stroked me slowly, her thumb tracing the tip where I was wet. The pleasure was so intense my vision blurred. "You don’t have to control anything right now."
Her hand moved again. Learning me the way I’d learned her. My breathing fractured. My hips rocked into her grip. Every stroke pulled me closer to an edge I wasn’t ready to fall over because I didn’t want it to end like this. Not in her hand. Not when she was lying underneath me, warm and open, her body still trembling from what I’d done to her.
I caught her wrist. Stopped her.
She looked at me, confused, lips swollen, eyes so dark I could barely find the brown.
"I need to be inside you." The words came out rough, stripped of everything but the truth. "Right now, Anna. I need to be inside you."
CHAPTER 19
Anna
"I need to be inside you. Right now, Anna."
I pulled him down to me. "Then take me."
He positioned himself between my thighs, his weight settling over me, his arms braced on either side of my head, his gray eyes locked on mine. Close. The closest we’d ever been. Skin on skin, nothing between us. His expression was open, hungry, tender all at once in a way I didn’t think a face could hold.
"I don’t feel repulsed." His voice was rough, almost wondering. "I’m touching you everywhere. Not even a trace. Not even a whisper." He pressed his forehead to mine. "You’ve broken every rule my brain has ever made."
He pushed forward. Slow, careful, inch by inch, and the feeling of him entering me was so overwhelming that my back arched off the bed and my nails dug into his shoulders. The stretch. The fullness. The heat of him filling me completely. The sound that came out of me wasn't a word. It was something deeper than language, pulled from a place I didn't know I had.
He was big, and the fullness bordered on too much before my body adjusted, opened for him, and then he became exactly right. He groaned my name into my neck, low and broken, and I felt the vibration of it against my throat.
He didn’t move. Held himself still inside me, his arms trembling, his forehead pressed against mine, his breathing ragged. Letting me adjust. Letting himself adjust. Every muscle in his body coiled tight with restraint.
"You feel…" He couldn’t finish the sentence. His body went rigid beneath the effort of holding himself still, his breathing rough and uneven. His eyes were squeezed shut.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. "Move."
He did. Slow at first. Long, deep strokes that pulled all the way out before pushing back in, filling me to the hilt each time. Every thrust hit a place inside me that made the world flash white behind my eyelids. I gasped, gripped his shoulders, dug my nails in harder.
"There." I could barely speak. "Right there. Don’t stop."
"I couldn’t stop if I tried." His voice was gone. Just gravel and breath and accent. He found a rhythm, deep and steady and devastating, rolling his hips in a way that ground against the exact spot that made my toes curl.
I moaned his name. He did more of whatever caused it, adjusting the angle, going deeper when I pulled him closer. He was learning me in real time, his obsessive attention locked on my body, reading every sound I made and every shift in my breathing and turning each one into something he could use to unravel me further.
"Harder," I whispered against his ear.
He gave me harder. His hand gripped my hip, angled me up, and the new depth tore a sound out of me I didn't recognize. He caught it with his mouth, kissing me deep while he moved, his tongue stroking mine in the same rhythm as his hips.
"You’re so tight." His mouth crashed against mine, swallowing his own words. "You feel incredible. I can’t…"
I bit his lower lip. Tugged. The sound he made was primal. His hips snapped forward, harder than before, and I arched off the bed and wrapped myself around him and we were past careful, past controlled, past everything but the raw desperate need to be as close as two bodies could get.
He hitched my leg higher around his waist. Deeper. Fuller. I cried out and his eyes found mine and stayed there. He watched my face while he moved, every reaction, every gasp, and when my eyes fluttered shut he'd slow down until I opened them again.
"Look at me." Low. Commanding. The voice he used in boardrooms except aimed at my body instead of a contract. "I want to see you."
I held his gaze. His gray eyes were almost black, pupils blown wide, and the intensity of being seen like this, completely bare, while he was taking me apart stroke by stroke, was the most exposed I'd ever felt. More naked than naked. He was seeing everything. The pleasure on my face, the tears forming in the corners of my eyes because nobody had ever looked at me like this while being this close. Like I was the answer to a question he'd been asking his whole life.
