Page 123 of Embrace

Kian’s hand slips from my cheek to my waist, guiding me into a rhythm, slow, deep. He barely moves, holding himself back, like he’s afraid to shake whatever this is.

“D-do you like it?” An insecurity touches my voice. I’ve never asked that before. I always pretended to be sure of myself. I was seeking a fleeting moment of pleasure that I couldn’t get anywhere else, and it was the cheapest form of connection I could feel in that moment. A shortcut to feeling wanted. But this feels different. This feels like everything’s recklessly wired together—our breath, skin, heartbeats. I can’t move without wondering if he feels that spark of pleasure too.

Kian’s gaze snaps up to meet mine, and for a moment, he just looks. “As long as you’re touching me, I’ll always like it. But yes. I like this. I like you.”

My heart stutters.

“I like you on top.” His hands slide to my back, pulling me down until our bodies are pressed flush. Then his hips rise and he thrusts hard, and I gasp. “I like you against me.” He kisses my shoulder, and then, in one smooth motion, he flips us, pinning me beneath him. “And I like you under me. Watching me with those pretty eyes.”

Heat flares in my face. I know he sees it when he grins.

“But I think,” he says, his voice quieter now, “what you’re really asking has nothing to do with all the ways I like to have you.”

“Yes, it does. I want to know if you feel good,” I interject.

He chuckles. “Scar, I feel good whenever you’re with me.” He dips down, kissing me again in the same slow, deep way he sinks into me. “You don’t have to perform for me. You don’t have to twist yourself up trying to make it perfect. You can just be.”

No one’s ever said that to me before. No one’s ever given me space to listen to myself. Sex was always a score to chase, a performance to nail. I’ve never let go of the idea that it’s supposed to be about the other person, about making sure they’re satisfied. It wasabout getting the sticker from your teacher. The silent approval. The feeling that maybe, if I played it perfectly, I’d finally get to release the breath I’ve been holding all these years.

“Can I be gentle now, sweetheart?” he says. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

That undoes me, and I think I’m coming again, or on the verge at least, because I nod and Kian takes me so slowly I can’t catch my breath. He tortures me with it, rolling his hips in controlled movements, making my pussy clench to try to hold on to him. It’s almost like he’s teasing me, punishing me for thinking I didn’t want him to be gentle. Like he gave me whatever I wanted, but he can read my body like he wrote the manual.

“How is that? Am I giving you enough?” He stays inside me longer, making my toes curl.

I hum in response, no longer coherent.

“That’s my sweet Scarlett. Atta girl.”

Fuck. What is he doing to me? I’ve never liked it like this. No one has ever been this gentle, so caring, cooing in my ear like his only goal is to take care of me.

“You’ll take it any way I want to give it to you, right, sweetheart?”

“Yes.God, yes, Kian.” I reach for his pecs, scratching his skin when I think I’m going to die from pleasure. Is that possible? I’m about to find out.

A single string of spit falls from his lips, and it hits my clit before he presses his palm there. He holds me close then, right in his embrace, feeling me shake in his arms as I shatter.

“I want to taste you,” I blurt.

Maybe I sound desperate, but I don’t care. I want him in my mouth. And I know Kian would never judge me for speaking my mind. Instead, he grins, pulling out of me and watching me push him back on the bed as he helps gather my hair, pulling it away from my face.

I lick him from his base to the tip, taking his balls in my mouth, watching his face scrunch up. “So fucking good, Scar.”

I take him so deeply his hand tightens in my hair, pushing me down farther and making me gag. “Sorry, sorry,” he quickly says, releasing his grip.

“No, I like it. Show me what you want, Kian.”

He shakes his head lightly. “I like whatever you want to do.”

My chest blossoms. If I looked down, I’m sure there’d be flowers growing out of my chest. So I do, I give him what I want. I please him.

I dig my nails into his thigh and go deep. He pulls on my hair, forcing me to look up at him as I go deeper.

“Gonna come,” he says the second my eyes meet his. Then, just as quickly, he’s coming apart in my mouth. His head falls back and I climb up to his sweaty, damp chest, kissing him. He lets me do it, letting us taste each other.

“Still love me?” I half joke, drawing patterns on his chest.

He lifts my head up to look at him, serious as ever. “I loved you before that. Of course I still love you after it. But with you, Scarlett, there never has been a before and after. My love for you is constant.”