Page 44
The moment his cock springs free between my thighs, time stops around me.
Oh my God.
I’m fucked.
He notices immediately, one eyebrow lifting, amused.
I bite my lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction.
“Condom,” I demand, breathless.
That wicked smile curves his lips again.
He reaches into the nightstand, pulls out a foil packet, tears it open with his teeth, and slowly rolls it on while keeping his eyes on mine.
Then he’s back on me, his mouth on my breasts, his hand returning between my thighs, relentless.
My hips lift, chasing the friction, desperate for release, and when he bites down harder and presses against my clit perfectly… I break.
“Come for me, doll.”
The orgasm hits like lightning, violent, consuming, tearing through me, my body trembling uncontrollably.
“Jesus, Ethan,” I cry out, unable to stop it.
But then…
His hand moves, and I feel his cock at my entrance.
A pause. Then he pushes in. Hard. Deep. Completely.
The pleasure fades instantly, replaced by a searing pain that rips a broken sound from my throat. My hands clutch his hair, pulling hard, my eyes squeezing shut while tears spill down my temples.
My legs lock tighter around him, holding him there despite the pain, because pushing him away is not an option.
“Fucking hell, Thalia.” His voice snaps, rough, shocked, real. “I thought you were lying. I thought you were just trying to provoke me. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me seriously? You made it sound like a joke, like a fucking game.”
He starts to pull back, and panic flashes through me.
“No,” I say, forcing my eyes open, locking onto his. My voice is steady, even with tears still clinging to my lashes. “You’ve already been my first.”
His movement stops.
“So either you fuck me,” I continue, my gaze hard, challenging, “or someone else will. I want sex. And I want it now.”
He stares at me, caught—anger, frustration, restraint, all colliding inside him.
Then he drops his forehead to mine and groans, dangerous and strained, like he’s being torn apart from the inside out.
“You’re absolutely impossible.”
But he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, his mouth drops onto my neck, his hand sliding between us again. But this time his touch softens.
Slower. Composed. Too composed.
His thrusts follow—careful, tempered, almost restrained.
