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‘That’s it...’ he murmured. ‘Like that.’
His face was taut with concentration, his eyes burning into hers, and then he lifted her hips and slid into her.
Her breath caught. He felt hot and sleek and big, too big and for a moment she concentrated on absorbing the size of him. Then it stung a little, stretched a little more and her hands braced against his chest.
Instantly, he stilled. ‘It’s okay,’ he said softly. ‘Take all the time you need. Your body is just getting used to how it feels.’
She nodded. He was right, she thought a moment later as the muscles in her thighs loosened.
He shifted, taking more of his weight on his elbows, and looked down at her as if he was trying to commit her face to memory. ‘Now move with me.’
Her pulse quickened as his mouth found hers, his kiss taking her with him so that soon her head was spinning, and her muscles were relaxed. Her hips lifted to accept him, her body stretching, opening, the pulse between her thighs getting faster and more insistent.
She reached for him blindly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, chasing the pulse as he drove into her. Her skin felt white-hot. Her blood was like lava. She was melting inside, dissolving with need, and now her muscles were tightening again, tightening around him, trying to hold on to him, gripping tighter and tighter—
Her mouth opened and she made a sort of keening, one-syllable noise that swelled inside her unbidden. And then her body tensed, and she arched, a barb of sharp pleasure jerking her hips against his, flames rippling through her as she shuddered helplessly beneath him.
She felt Achileas thrust deeper. He buried his hands in her hair and his mouth covered hers as he reared forward, taking her with him, his body surging inside hers.
He grunted, limbs twitching, and she felt him ease down against her, his skin hot and damp.
Heart pounding, Effie stared dazedly across the room, half expecting to see the beautiful dressing table on fire. Or on its side, drawers emptied. Or the curtains ripped from the windows. Anything that would reflect the immensity of what had just happened inside the room.
But it was all exactly the same.
For a moment she listened to the sound of their fractured breathing, resting her fingers limply against his shoulders. Her lips were soft and puffy from all their kissing, and she felt like a piece of clay that Achileas had shaped with his hands into something new and beautiful.
Was that how she was supposed to feel? Was that what everyone’s first time was like? So powerful and sensual? She hoped it was.
It had been just so beautiful...so utterly beyond anything she could have imagined. She’d had no idea that hands could stir and torment to such a pitch of pleasure. Or that skin could be so sensitive. Even now everything felt magnified and sensual—the shudder of his breath against her shoulder, the weight of his hand in her hair.
Achileas’s breath.
Achileas’s hand.
She felt her chest tighten. Everything about him was so perfect, and it had felt so good, so right, when he’d moved against her, inside her...
He was still inside her now, and nobody ever told you about that part. How good, how right, how perfect it felt. To lie there as one, bodies fused.
Her heart squeezed. He had made her want so much and now it was over.
‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
Achileas was looking down at her intently.
‘No.’ She shook her head, wanting to tell him the truth.
But how could she? He had told her that she could change her mind and that he would stop. But she hadn’t wanted him to stop, and it had changed everything. He had changed everything. Changed her from the inside out. Changed her understanding of the world and herself. He had made her want things, and she had asked and taken what she wanted in ways she had never done before.
His eyes held hers for a moment and then he shifted backwards, lifting his body carefully off hers.
Still floating on clouds, she reached for him.
‘No, you stay here,’ he said, and she felt a sharp pang like an actual physical loss as he rolled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
But what had she expected him to do? He was hardly going to keep holding her against him afterwards, like a lover. And although they hadn’t discussed it, it was obvious now that there was a reason for that.
Her first time with Achileas would also be her only time with him. The logical part of her brain had accepted that. But the other part—the part that had surrendered to him completely—couldn’t seem to let go.
