He couldn’t seem to put it into words. He mumbled something—some nonsensical words of praise and yearning—and dragged her atop him, sliding his cock between her folds.
She gasped.
“Take your pleasure,” he gritted out. “Make yourself come.”
He showed her what he meant, sliding her against the granite length of him, a slow drugging rhythm. He pressed not inside her, but against her, stroking her clitoris with his erection. Her body felt full of sparks, burning, spinning, flickering behind her eyes.
“Set the pace,” he said raggedly. “I need to—”
His hands left her thighs to cup her breasts, and his movements were shaky, uncontrolled. He gripped her hard, clutching at her, and it felt desperately good, and it made her ache—all of her felt hungry and aching andempty.
She shifted, angling her body so that his cock pressed against her entrance.
He froze.
Her mind was full of longing: for him, for this. For weeks, she had wanted this—wanted something irrevocable.
She said: “Please.”
He took a single gasping breath. “Ah—God. Ruby. Don’t—don’t move.”
She couldn’t help herself. Her body jerked against him, a small, instinctive movement. She was flushed with desire, drunk on it, fevered. “Please,” she said again. “I need you. I need—”
“Oh Jesus. Ruby.” He moved; she felt an infinitesimal pressure, nowhere near relief. The muscles of his abdomen flexed. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying to give you what you need.”
“I needyou. I need this.”
Shuddering waves raced up his body, again and again. His gaze, fierce urgent blue, fixed on her face. “I don’t—want to hurt you.”
Her body was already sinking down onto him, so slick that the accommodation was easy. She wanted him to drive inside her. Wanted to be filled. “You won’t hurt me.”
“I don’t—mean it like that. I can’t—I’m—” His jaw tightened; all his body shook with the effort not to move. He reached up to her face and brushed her hair back, pushing the damp strands away from her cheek and mouth. “Can’t think. Ruby. You truly want this?”
She did not need to consider. She did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“Jesus,” he said. “All right. All right.” He set his hand between them, touching her intimately, and as he did, he pressed up, tiny uneven strokes. “I’ll withdraw. I promise—ah God, pet, I swear I’ll withdraw. I won’t—I’m not going to let you regret this.”
She didn’t know if the words were for her or for himself. Gradually, thrust by thrust, he pushed deeper; the slow stretch was more pleasure than pain. She felt herself tighten around him, as if to draw him in.
The pressure built inside her—almost too much. Unthinkingly, she shifted down, a clumsy pulse of her hips to take more of him.
The sensation was bright and raw: a lightning strike. She gasped; he groaned.
“Malcolm,” she whispered.
He gripped her hips and bucked up, his breathing labored. He was, she thought, at the limit of his endurance. “Fuck,” he said hoarsely. “This is what you want?”
Her hands were on his chest, heated and sweat-damp. “Yes.”
He thrust again. He was fully seated in her now, the pleasure deep, almost too much to withstand. Her breasts jostled, and his gaze dropped from her face to her body as his pace quickened. She felt almost helpless, absorbing the pleasure of his body and the rhythmic movement of his fingers, and when he gave a choked moan, her climax bore down upon her like a storm. She trembled as it broke, and sobbed out his name.
She was still shaking when he withdrew. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Ruby. Going to come.”
“I—want you to.”
He brought her down to him—trapped his cock between their bellies and groaned as he spent himself. She felt the slow waves that shook his body, felt the hot sensation of his seed on her skin. Held him hard, his heart beating against hers.
They lay tangled up together for a very long time. And when he lifted his head, it was only to find her mouth with his.
