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‘Yes, but it’s not a big deal,’ she murmured, because it really wasn’t. Or at least it shouldn’t have been. Up until the moment he had entered her, she’d been delirious with pleasure. He’d brought her to orgasm. Twice. And more than anything she wanted to do the same for him. To see him shatter the way he had made her shatter.
‘I must withdraw,’ he said.
‘No, don’t.’ She clasped his shoulders. ‘Don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.’ The tearing pain had already lessened, the tendrils of heat building again at her core, the pulsing ache becoming sharp and insistent.
‘Damn it, Alison, you don’t know what you ask of me. I am not sure I can be gentle.’
The growled admission, grudging and yet gruff with desperation, had her heart contracting.
‘I don’t need you to be gentle, Dominic. I just need you to treat me like a woman.’
To treat me like your woman.
The foolishly romantic thought echoed in her head.
She buried it deep. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him her virginity was not a big deal to her. She was twenty-five years old. It was ridiculous she’d waited this long. And yes, it had hurt. But already the full stretched feeling had changed into something closer to pleasure than pain. He filled her up in a way that made her breath hitch, and her clitoris throb with renewed yearning.
‘I’m not fragile,’ she added, because he was still braced above her, not moving, his face strained with the effort it was taking him to hold still. ‘Really I’m not. I know what I want.’ And what I want is you.
She threaded her fingers into his hair, coaxing him to do what they both needed. He swore softly, but then placed a hand at her cheek, brushing his thumb across her lips.
‘D’accord, ma belle,’ he murmured, his gaze becoming dark and intense as he glided out of her, then thrust back in, slowly, carefully, sinking in to the hilt.
The head of his penis massaged a spot deep inside her and she gasped, the delicious shudder adding to the heat at her core.
‘C’est bien?’ he asked, his perfect English having deserted him.
‘Yes,’ she moaned. ‘It’s good.’
He established a rhythm—slow at first, and then building—digging at th
at spot ruthlessly, relentlessly as heat fired over her skin.
The waves of pleasure gathered again with each new thrust of his hips, each new jolt of desire. She clung to him, the only solid object in the storm engulfing her. Every pulse and heartbeat became attuned to the ravages of pleasure he was waging on her body. The steady rhythm became harder, faster, overwhelming, unstoppable.
She couldn’t think any more, couldn’t make sense of the sounds and sights around her, all she could do was feel...
Her moans became pants, her sex contracting, massaging the hard length. The brutal pleasure coiled tighter at her core. The edge of desire so sharp she felt buffeted, burned, undone.
Then his thumb found the swollen folds where their bodies joined, triggering a conflagration so fierce and all-consuming she cried out.
Her body arched into his, the shattering orgasm exploding along her nerve-endings, like a shimmering light, splintering and then retreating to splinter again.
She could hear her own sobs, her fingers fisting in his hair, as he finally let her tumble to earth—his shout of fulfilment following her over that high wide edge.
His big body collapsed on top of her, his raw pants matched hers, the musty scent of sex and sweat mingling with the shiver of surrender.
She hugged him, exhausted, spent. Her sex sore, her body limp. She caressed the silky strands at his nape now damp with sweat, and tried not to acknowledge the debilitating wave of emotion threatening to engulf her.
It’s just sex. Just for one night. It doesn’t mean anything.
But still she couldn’t quite ignore the faltering beat of her heart at the realisation that, after twelve years, all her foolish teenage fantasises had finally come true. And it had definitely been worth the wait.
CHAPTER FOUR
BREATHE, DAMN IT. Breathe.
Dominic’s hands slipped from Alison’s hips as he withdrew. She flinched and the dart of shame stabbed at his chest.
