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What was I thinking? I thought I was ready. Thought I could go through with this. But right now, it feels like death is swallowing me whole. Death by embarrassment. Death by panic attack because this thirty-two-year-old woman is scared to have sex for the first time.
What was I thinking?
And then he is there. Devlyn. Body pressed to mine and face a breath away. Still blurry, but slowly coming into focus as he strokes my cheek. His lips move, but his words hit my ears in a garbled mess. Then he kisses me—my lips, my cheek, the spot beneath my ear.
“Breathe,” he says, soft and slow. Another kiss heats the skin beneath my ear. “I’ve got you.” He shifts to meet my gaze. “Just breathe.”
Then I take the deepest breath of my life as Devlyn rocks his hips forward.
TWENTY-TWO
DEVLYN
I never wantto let her go.
Forehead pressed to hers, I tighten my hold on Shelly. Our heavy breaths mingle in the air and further dampen our skin. Still inside her, I shift us onto our sides and band my arms around her more securely. Hold her impossibly closer and kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, her lips.
My fingers comb through her hair as our breathing settles and the room grows still. I close my eyes and bask in the hormonal high my body is on. Relish the heat and sensation of Shelly in my arms, bare and natural and uninhibited. Cherish the subtle touches she gives as her fingers paint small circles on my lower back.
“That was…”
“Incredible,” I finish for her.
“Incredible,” she repeats wistfully.
Sex—making love—with Shelly was more than incredible. Once I calmed her, once the sharp sting of my invasion faded, we fumbled with our rhythm. But it didn’t take long for the lack of coordination to fall away. In its place, we figured out the perfect tempo. Learned when to rock our hips at the perfect time. Discovered which position or angle made each other moan. And then she let go.
Watching Shelly come undone beneath me is a sight I will never forget. A sight I will mentally revisit time and again. The moment her orgasm peaked, it was like watching the most beautiful flower open its petals and come to life. A magical sight to behold. Her skin blotched in various shades of pink and red. Shades I will only associate with her.
But making love was more than just a physical act with Shelly.
When her starry blues locked on mine as we let go, an inferno of emotion burned beneath my sternum. The shimmering stars in her eyes sucked me deeper. The connection we shared from the start tightened its grip around my heart. And it was in that singular moment, in that infinite blip of time, I knew I would never spend a day without Shelly in my life.
Is it too soon to confess such bold statements aloud?
Minute by minute, I grow more flaccid inside Shelly. Much as I don’t want to break the physical connection, remaining like this isn’t ideal. So I reluctantly withdraw from her. Press a kiss to her forehead and excuse myself to dispose of the condom.
When I crawl under the sheets, Shelly is softly snoring on my pillow. I don’t wake or move her. Instead, I adjust myself to mold my body to her frame, wrap my arms around her waist, and whisper good night against the skin beneath her ear.
* * *
I waketo cold sheets where Shelly fell asleep in my arms only hours ago. The smell of bacon and fresh bread float through the house and my stomach grumbles in response. I press a palm to my stomach to quelch the feisty organ.
Arms above my head, I stretch the sleep from my muscles. As I scoot toward the edge of the bed, I pick up Shelly’s scent on the pillow. I roll over, press my nose to the space she abandoned not long ago and inhale the scent distinctly Shelly—sweet and floral and earthy. Fisting the pillow, I smother myself with her perfume.
How will I ever sleep without her in my bed again?
Now is not the time for such questions or answers. I may want Shelly in my bed—not strictly for sex—every night going forward, but that doesn’t mean she is ready for the same level of commitment. Last thing I need to do is scare her off. Doesn’t mean I won’t skirt the subject and put out feelers.
Out of bed, I dig a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, step into them, and presumptuously grab a condom from the nightstand and pocket it before wandering to the kitchen. At the end of the hall, the kitchen comes into view and I freeze. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the view.
Screwed. I am so screwed when it comes to this woman. Without a doubt, my heart is hers.
With her back to me, I survey the scene unannounced. Shelly has her toffee-blonde locks securely piled on her head; a few stragglers tickle the nape of her neck. She wears the shirt I wore last night, and only the shirt. Her bare legs go on for miles. I swallow and try to temper the thoughts causing my sweats to tent.
Moving away from the cutting board, she spots me in her periphery. A hand slaps her chest as she gasps. “Holy shit.” I amble into the kitchen as she catches her breath. “You practically gave me a heart attack,” she says, smacking my bare chest as I snake my arms around her waist.
I kiss her lips. “Sorry.”Am I, though?“Actually, I’m not sorry. I rather enjoyed watching you a minute.”
