Page 141 of Heimlock

“Are you okay?” I say, breathless.

I can tell by his expression he’s not quite here with me. Warring memories flicker across his face; he closes his eyes. I take a hand and wait patiently.

When his eyes open again, they’re clear. His voice is rough as he says, “Keep going.”

“With the hand?”

“Yes.”

So I resume working him with the tightness I know he likes. Almost immediately, he’s panting and cursing again. When I take it as far down my throat as possible, he looks at me like I’m a goddess.

It’s a surprise when he taps my shoulder; I’m so consumed with pleasuring him. Mouth full, I look up. He’s gazing at me with a mix of adoration and lust.

“Kyrielle, I don’t think I can wait any longer to be inside you.”

If I thought there was an inferno of desire existing inside me, I was sadly mistaken. Because that one sentence incinerates my insides in the most delectable of ways.

With a playful popping sound, I release his cock. “I’m ready for you to make me yours.”

“Fuuuuck,” he says slowly, pushing the boxer briefs off entirely. I shift, taking my bra off in the process, leaving my underwear on.

Falling on top of me, cradling my head with forearms, he kisses me. It’s slow and cherishing. His weight settles between my thighs, the hardness pressing into my center, teasing me beyond sanity. My hips move of their own accord, desperate for friction. When he begins to move, I groan into his mouth.

I can barely breathe from the way my lungs burn and heart pounds. When the kiss breaks, he nuzzles my nose. “Condom or no condom?”

The last time, we used a condom. But I’m confident he’s my forever and I take the preventative tonic every week. “No condom, if you want.”

He grins. “You can have another one of my firsts, then.”

I giggle. “Me, too.”

At that, his expression heats. “No one, ever?”

I shake my head. “Never.”

“By any of the goddesses, let me inside,” he snarls, rearing back. In a flash, he’s torn my underwear like it’s a piece of paper.

I gasp. Fully bared, I let him look his fill. The lust on his face from moments before shifts into reverence. He resettles, leaving us skin to skin. Trinte’s body trembles; from restraint or need, I’m not sure. His eyes scan my face as one of his hands cups my cheek.

“I love you, Kyrielle.”

Tears prick my eyes at the gentle way he cherishes me. “I love you, too, Trinte.”

His hips lift, and he’s pressing against my entrance. My eyes flutter closed, all of my focus on the sensation of him sliding into my body, filling me. It has to be done inch by agonizing, thick inch.

He lets out the most devastating groan of pleasure, pressing into me to the hilt. We lay there like that for a moment, reveling in the moment.

Our ragged breaths mingle as we hold eye contact, like we’ve silently agreed that this moment is more than sex. It’s an acknowledgement; an agreement. After spending our too-long-lives apart, we’re finally joined in all the ways that matter most.

When he moves, pleasure like I’ve never experienced cascades over my senses. Trinte is clearly determined to draw out this moment, with slow, torturous strokes that stoke the fire blooming in my belly. Our joining feels divine in a way I could have never expected. When we fucked in the bathroom, it was so much less than this. Like a candle compared to a pyre.

Trinte presses warm lips to mine, exploring my mouth with lazy tongue swipes. My hands trail along his arms, raising my hips to meet each thrust.

One of his hands comes to my ass, lifting it for a better, deeper angle. I moan, tilting my pelvis further, wanting him so deep, he’s fucking my soul.

“I need more, Trinte,” I mewl into the shell of his ear, giving it a nip.

The pace increases, incrementally at first. Trinte watches my face as his thrusts become more demanding. Shifting to lean on his other arm, Trinte looks down to where we’re joined. His hair falls to the side, creating an intimate curtain, containing his tiny, breathy moans. The sound increases the orgasm coiling in my center.