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And then, to his astonishment, she thumped him one in the ribs.
Hard.
CHAPTER NINE
ITHURT,BUTMOLLYhad expected it would.
She’d been told a thousand stories of terrible, horrible pain the first time, but people didn’t seem to let that stop them from having sex. She didn’t intend to let it stop her.
Because there was something right on the other side of the pain. Something almost seductive, like a new kind of fire. Molly knew that no matter what, she wanted to taste it.
For his part, Constantine looked poleaxed. He stared down at her, an expression she couldn’t begin to interpret on that beautiful face of his.
And to her impatient fury, he didn’t move.
So she did.
Molly might not have done this before, but she understood the mechanics. Or she understood them well enough, anyway, to lift her hips and try to press herself into that bright, sharp pain. Especially when it made him tight all around her, that astonishing body of his nearly vibrating as he held himself still.
“Molly—”
But she ignored him, rocking herself against that insistent press of his need until it hurt too much to bear. Then she pulled in a ragged breath and impaled herself.
And then lay there beneath him, panting.
Impaledand panting.
“That was very foolish,” Constantine gritted out, in dampening tones.
“Only if it’s bad.” Molly laughed a bit at that, aware that it was shaky at best, but that didn’t make her stop. “Is it going to be bad?”
And he still didn’t look...quite like him. Something of that internal storm that so marked him was gone. Or not gone, exactly, but not the same. His dark gaze seemed flooded with gold.
Meaning she did, too.
He shifted over her so he could brush moisture she hadn’t known was beneath her eyes away with his thumbs, as he held her head in place. Not in a way that made her feel held down, but in a way that made her feel precious.
She melted a little at that, inside and out.
“No,” he said gruffly, his gaze intense. “I can promise you, it will not be bad.”
And then he kissed her.
Molly found it was different from the kisses that had come before. She would have said it was sweeter, but this was Constantine—and he wasinside her. What sweetness could there possibly be?
And yet she thought of the honeyed sweetness she’d eaten in Skiathos, the richness on her tongue.
Constantine was better.
He kissed her and he kissed her, as if he wasn’t buried deep inside her body. As if there was no hurry whatsoever. His chest brushed against her breasts as he held her face, and she hadn’t thought that she was tense at all until she felt herself relax beneath him. Until she was melting into that kiss, pouring herself into the dance of his tongue and hers.
And slowly, surely, everything changed.
Until she felt as if both of them were liquid sunshine, tangled all around each other. The newness, the shock of his penetration began to change, too, rolling into a kind of molten thing. Bright. Warm, then hot.
Then hotter still, laced through with all that shine.
And only when she sighed a little against his mouth, running her own hands up and down the glorious planes and muscles of his back, did he lift his head and smile down at her.
