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She’d become his responsibility, hadn’t she? It was his responsibility to protect her, to be gentle, to make her first time the best it could be.
He shouldn’t be her first.
He was not gentle.
He planted his feet, stopping her from reaching the bed.‘Piccolina...’
She turned to him. The warning died in his mouth as she released his hand, took a step backwards, and pushed his jacket from her shoulders.
It thumped to the floor. He did not look. Didn’t care. Her eyes held his—trapping him, imploring him to forget everything but the desire flaring her pupils into dark discs of desire. Making them glitter. Shine just for him.
He waited.
She reached for the straps hugging the tops of her arms and pushed them down to her wrists, baring her breasts. Her fingers pushed the dress past her waist, her hips, to slide down the creamy whiteness of her thighs and land at her feet with his jacket. Then her panties. She toyed with the waistband and then, in one decisive movement, slid them to her ankles.
Stepping out of the puddle of fabric at her feet, she moved, her gaze never leaving his. The back of her legs met the mattress. The bed. She sat down. Inched her bottom up over the bedspread.
He couldn’t breathe...couldn’t catch his breath as she presented herself to him...let her knees fall apart. The dark triangle between her legs glistened where his mouth had been. Where he’d tasted her. Torn her apart with his mouth.
‘Make love to me.’
The glass shattered.
He gripped his shirt and tore it open, the buttons popping soundlessly to the thick carpet beneath his feet. He pulled it off, along with his trousers and his boxers, kicked them all aside.
‘Say it again,’ he demanded, ignoring the voice in his head ordering him to tell her it was not love. She did not know what love was. Love burnt. Love hurt. And he would not hurt her. He was going to worship every inch of the body she offered to him.
Her breasts heaved. Her nipples grew taut. Tight. Almost asking for his mouth on them...his tongue. But he waited. Waited for her cue.
Her brown eyes burned black. Wide. Intense.
She was a goddess.
Her neck arched to reveal the slenderness of her throat. Her brown hair trailed back to feather the pillows he wanted to push her into. He wanted to find her mouth and take her. Possess her.
Her fingers pinched at the white bedspread. Grasped it and pulled it. ‘Make love to me,’ she said again.
And he wanted to be between her legs, desperately, but his last remaining strand of lucidity stopped him from moving.
Protection.
He knelt and retrieved his wallet from his jacket pocket. He pulled out a foil packet and threw the wallet to join their discarded clothes.
He stood tall. Erect.Present.
Her eyes fluttered to the thick length of him.
‘You’re...’
He was.
He held her gaze as he rolled the latex down the length of himself.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he promised, before he could stop himself. He didn’t make promises. But she was ready, and he had no control left. Not over his mouth. Nor his body.
None.
He moved between her legs, gripped her thigh to place her calf on his lower back. Her fingers, delicate, feathered his tight jaw. He stared into her eyes because he couldn’t look away. He placed the heat of himself at her entrance.
