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I’ve been controlling sex since I found it in me to be intimate again. This is the first time I’ve ever felt comfortable letting a guy lead.
“Where the hell have you been?” he says against my lips, causing me to grin against him as he pushes me down, coming down on top of me.
I’m not sure what that means, but I love the awe in his tone.
My smile dies as I wait for the inevitable panic attack of being pinned down, but it doesn’t come. More emotions bud inside of me, and I put all the confusing questions into the back of my mind, deciding to analyze this all later.
For now, I just want to feel.
And I do.
I feel his movements against me as he pushes his pants away.
I feel him shift as he slides his hand up my leg, eliciting small shivers from me because of how overloaded my sensory nerves are.
I feel when he touches parts of me that shouldn’t be so erotic—the bend of my knee, the back of my calf, the top of my foot.
I feel everything, and it all feels perfect.
He starts pushing my shirt up, and I force myself to allow it. He sucks in a breath when he realizes I’m also not wearing a bra. It’s escaped his attention since he’s avoided any groping.
“Damn,” he says under his breath, though it sounds like praise.
He leans back as though he’s going to take it all in. Which gives me a second to fully appreciate him, since he’s down to his black boxers that are straining to keep certain parts of his body restrained.
I’m confident, until his gaze shifts and zeroes in on what I was worried about.
“What happened?” he asks, not sounding overly concerned or nosy, just curious.
He runs his fingers over two of the scars, and I catch his wrist, stopping him. I can’t stand them being touched.
He meets my eyes again, and the concern that was lacking begins to form. He’s too perceptive, so it’d be stupid to give too much away with my expressions.
“Car accident,” I tell him weakly.
It’s a lie, but I’m damn good at lying.
“The same as your parents?” he asks.
If he ever looked into it and found the name I stole, then he’d know that girl was not in the same accident as her parents.
“No. Can we not talk about this right now though?” I ask, my voice teasing now as I slide his hand up to cover my breast.
The heat in his eyes is instantly back, the concern washing away when he sees I’m okay. With slow prowess, he slides down on top of me, and his lips claim mine again.
Nothing else matters in this moment.
We kiss until we’re both grinding against each other, desperate for more. I need zero help getting ready, because I’ve never been so turned on in all my life.
He groans against me before finally lifting away from me again.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says softly, brushing his lips against mine again.
Just that bit of comfort means more than he knows, because I believe it coming from his lips.
When you read people like I do, you learn who’s honest and who isn’t. You learn to smell intentions.
