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The sensation of him pressing into me, probing all the sensitive areas he’d worshipped before he yanked me closer to a climax I didn’t think I’d have the energy to reach again so soon.
But then he pressed harder, pressed inside.
And at first, the pleasure battled with the pain, my primed body submitting to him.
But there was only so much submitting my body could do before he had to push through without submission. With pain.
“Polly,” he murmured. “Look at me. Need your beautiful eyes.”
I didn’t even realize I’d had them squeezed shut in my discomfort.
When I opened them, Heath’s eyes searched mine. His entire body was taut, his jaw tight enough to shatter if he clenched it any more.
“Keep lookin’ at me,” he demanded. Then he thrust into me with a brutality that I knew was actually gentler than the slow and agonizing movements of before.
I cried out in mostly pain and a leftover of pleasure. I kept my promise, I didn’t squeeze my eyes shut through the burning pain of him breaking through that wall, of that unpleasant fullness that almost felt like I was being torn in two.
Heath’s mouth pressed onto mine, gently at first, then more insistent. He demanded a response out of me and I gave it to him. And I got so lost in the kiss that I didn’t flinch when he started to move, when my sensitive body started to protest.
I kept kissing him.
I dug my nails into the skin of his back.
He growled against my mouth.
And whether it was the kiss, the growl, or Heath himself, the pain started to subside. Slowly. Much slower than his thrusts, but enough for each to yield less pain and more of that beautiful pleasure that seemed like it was from a lifetime ago.
I no longer felt too full with Heath inside me.
I felt perfect.
He stopped moving. “Polly?” he demanded in concern.
I sunk my nails into his back again moving my palm to his ass to yank him closer into me. He let out a hiss.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed.
“The Devil himself wouldn’t stop me,” he rasped as he started moving again.
And my hips started to move with him. My body. Everything responded to him. The pain was a dull ache, still there, still insistent, but it was drowning in the sea of sensation Heath had thrown me into.
Chapter Three
It had been hours.
We hadn’t left the bed, apart to meet basic human needs.
I would’ve forgone food entirely, but Heath was insistent of the fact that I needed to replenish my energy.
And to be fair, he’d used up a great deal of it.
I was quite happy for him to use up all of it.
For him to use up all of me.
Because I wasn’t falling for him.
I’d fallen.
Hard.
“You know, I thought this was a modern-day fairy tale,” I said, spooning ice cream into my mouth. “But I don’t think the princes do the things to princesses like you just did to me.”
I was wearing his tee, sitting on his counter, swinging my aching legs as he leaned against his fridge, watching me.
Shirtless.
Wearing sweats low on his hips.
Commando.
And he had just done things.
Things I didn’t think my body could handle.
Things I didn’t know my body craved.
He was silent for a moment after I spoke, then he moved taking the spoon from me just as I’d been about to put it to my mouth. He ate the ice cream on my spoon with a smirk before setting it and the tub aside.
He pushed my legs wider so he could step between them. My core responded immediately, despite the dull ache.
“You want a fairy tale,” he murmured, playing with my hair. “See, that’s your problem. You want something that someone’s already written for you. And that ain’t you, babe, I’m fucking pleased to tell you. The person you are, the story you live, it won’t fit in a book. It’s not ever going to be flattened down to live in some two-dimensional world. You’re too big for that. You’re too bright. You’re sunshine in a life that has always been midnight.”
I blinked away the prickling of tears at the back of my eyes. Because his words were unbelievable. They were not something you uttered to a girl that you met at a bar, the girl who gave you her virginity for reasons unknown.
But maybe they weren’t unknown. Because no matter how free-spirited I was, I wasn’t a girl to give something so precious to just anyone.
Not to the boy who rented a hotel room on prom night.
Not to the boy who wrote a love song about me.
Or the one who inscribed our initials on a tree.
No.
I was going to give it to a man who told me I was his freaking sunshine after knowing me for twenty-eight hours.
Yeah, I was counting.
“How do you know me when you’ve only known me for twenty-eight hours?” I whispered. Then I realized I was vocalizing the fact that I knew the exact number of hours we’d been together for. “You know, approximately,” I said quickly.
