Page 208 of Sweet Ruin

“Hmm?”

“You’re playing.”

“I’m being thorough.” I roll the condom on with my other hand, working it down carefully, taking longer than I need to.

His head tips back. His throat moves.

And that’s when a thought sneaks in and sits down where I can’t ignore it.

Does he let other women do this?

He doesn’t seem like a man who hands the reins over. Not once, not to anyone. He puts his own name on things. He picks the restaurant and the tailor and the dress. He melted my deadbolt rather than wait for me to open my own door.

Twenty years and nobody’s given him an instruction, he said, and honestly, I believe him.

But he’s letting me steer now.

Does that mean what I think it might?

I don’t ask. I’m not going to ruin this by asking, and I’m not sure I’d trust the answer anyway.

I just get the condom on, smooth the base with my thumb, and look up at him. “Done.”

“Thank fucking God.” He cracks his neck. “Are you ready?”

“I… I think so.” I lick my lips. My mouth is suddenly so dry. But one look at Kane’s huge penis yearning toward me gets me salivating all over again.

“You’re in charge, Lilah,” he reminds me. “We’ll go at your pace.”

I scoot back onto the mattress until my shoulders find the pillows. Kane follows me up the bed on his knees.

I reach down between us and take hold of him. My hand looks absurd wrapped around his girth. I line him up where I need him, and the head slides through all that slickness, catching, sliding again.

“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay. Slow.”

“Slow,” he agrees, and doesn’t move an inch further than I pull him.

I press him in.

The stretch is immediate and enormous. My whole body goes rigid around the intrusion, and some hysterical part of my brain begs me to stop before it’s too late.

But I make myself breathe. Kane’s forehead drops to mine, his arm shaking beside my ear, his hips utterly obedient.

“Talk to me,” he urges.

“Still fitting,” I gasp. “Currently in the negotiation phase.”

“Take what you want.” He strokes a fallen lock of hair out of my face. “There’s no rush, sladkaya. I could stay here all night.”

So I do. I take another inch, then wait, then another, feeling my body give and adjust like dough finally deciding to cooperate. He’s so deep it’s anatomically implausible, pressure blooming everywhere at once, and then something inside me unclenches and the pressure turns into something else entirely.

“Oh,” I say faintly.

“There it is.” His mouth grazes my jaw. “You feel that?”

I nod. I nod a lot. My hands find his back, ink and heat and sweat. I hold on to him and stay exactly where I am, not moving yet.

Then slowly, he starts to rock in and out of me. Half an inch at a time, then an inch, then two, then four, then I don’t even know how many.