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“I don’t think I can—”
I start to protest, but he won’t hear it.
This position has never worked for me in the past. It always makes me feel too on display and vulnerable. I can never get out of my head enough to enjoy it, but as Jonathan takes a firm grasp on my hips, I realize that’s the exact way he wants me to feel. Already I know with him, this position will work in a way it never has before.
I might be on top, but he’s still in control. He’s setting the tempo, using his hips and thighs and hands to hold me steady as he thrusts up into me. I fight the urge to close my eyes as the sensations become almost too overwhelming because I’m getting off on the sight of him like this. He’s so handsome, his hair slightly mussed, his muscles straining and flexing as he holds me in position. I’m enthralled by every inch of him.
“Roll your hips,” he says. “Reach back and hold on to my legs.”
I do as he says, arching until I have a grip on his muscular thighs just above his knees. The position stretches and elongates my body in a way that drives him mad.
Then I start to roll my hips forward and back, anchored by him. His hand returns between my thighs. My body is already primed, attuned, beholden to him. The second time I come, it sneaks up on me suddenly, a flash of pleasure so intense I cry out. I ride the waves until I feel exhausted by it.
And then just as suddenly, Jonathan is sitting up, pushing me back onto the bed, pulling out and fisting himself as he comes onto my stomach. No condom, I realize only now.We had no condom.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is to have him do this to me, but it is, and when his blue eyes capture mine, he can tell I like it. His expression is so wicked, and I lie perfectly still, letting him lean back and look at me. What a sight. I should cover myself somehow, clean up and hide away this guilty pleasure, but Jonathan’s so ensnared I stay like that for him, knowing he wants it.
I feel like I’m his in a way that’s carnal.You’re depraved, my inner voice whispers, but I refuse to feel guilty about it. Not with Jonathan.
He reaches out to touch my chin, gently lifting it. Now, when our eyes meet, his gaze has softened. “I love you.”
I nearly look away, but he keeps ahold of my head, forcing me to endure the weight of his feelings. As a person who’s been starved for love for so long, it’s almost uncomfortable to accept his. I wonder if I’ll ever grow used to it.
I nod gently, and he lets go of me, climbing up off the bed.
“Stay there,” he instructs, disappearing into the bathroom to wet a towel in the sink before walking back to me. I hold my hand out to take it, but he cleans me himself before taking my hand and pulling me up.
We go into the bathroom and he turns the shower on, testing the water with his hand. I’m shameless as I inspect his body. The smooth planes of his back, the muscular definition—it’s so nearly art I’m surprised he’s not made of marble.
I’m quiet, and he doesn’t press me to talk as he turns back for me. I join him in the shower. He motions for me to step under the stream, giving me the pleasure of washing off first while he watches. I turn and let the warm water run down my chest. Then I step aside and lather up my hair with shampoo while he starts to wash off. I shiver and he notices, tugging me close to him, sharing the water.
I smile, and he kisses my cheek.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
I frown. “Of course.”
He looks relieved. “I just want to be sure. What we just did is out of the norm for me. I’ve always been extremely careful with past partners. Are you on any kind of birth control?”
“No.”
I wait for him to wince in horror, but he simply nods.
A beat passes, and he says, matter-of-factly, “I want children.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I spin to face the water. “So do I.”
He steps up behind me, cradling me against his body, and wraps his arms around my stomach. His lips touch my shoulder, and he whispers my name. I close my eyes and try not to cry. It’s all so overwhelming. The good can feel like too much sometimes.
We sleep in his bed, share his covers, manage a bit of rest, and then our bodies press together again. What was new only a few hours ago already feels slightly more familiar. I realize my body is building a home in him, a place to rest my weary head.
I wake up to Jonathan brushing my hair back away from my face.
“It’s late. We have to get going to the airport soon, and they’ve just delivered our breakfast.”
I groan against the morning light. I need another hour of sleep, and if not that, another ten minutes, at least.
“Emelia…” he says with a laugh as I bury myself deeper under the covers.
