do. I kind of always knew I did, but some days, I’d just doubt, you know? Some days, I’d forget because—”
“How couldn’t you?” I whispered, feeling miserable, even as I was so fucking happy I could explode. I pressed my lips to the base of her belly, just beside her groin, and murmured, “I want to taste you.”
“I won’t stop you.”
I let out a laugh, surprised by that reply. Looking up at her, I grinned and saw she was grinning back.
“Since when did you turn shameless?” I teased with a happy sigh.
“Since I learned to grab what I could get, take every moment and make it mine.”
I’d made her that way, taught her to be like that.
But I wasn’t going to be sad. Not anymore.
Instead, I gave her what she deserved.
I reached down and pressed a kiss to her apex, then let my tongue slide through the folds of her sex before I reached her clit and sucked on it a little.
The instant I did, she moaned, and I looked up, loving how she tipped her head back, loving how she keened and arched her body, almost dancing with the pleasure I gave her.
The sinews of her muscles surged and swayed in a rhythm that enchanted me, and the taste of her was more than I’d ever imagined.
She belonged on my tongue.
I gave her what she needed, gave her what she deserved. Tasted and savored, licked and sucked and fucked, then did it again and again until she was crying out, her orgasm whirling through her like a firework display on the Fourth of July. She tensed around me, even as she soared, and I knew I had to move.
As she was still in the throes, her spine arched, her throat bared to me, I surged upward, grabbed my cock, and slipped the tip inside.
She instantly stilled, but when I thrust into her, trying to be careful—hoping I wasn’t doing it wrong—I rubbed her clit with my other hand as I carefully tried to make my way deeper inside her without hurting her.
A low groan escaped her as I began touching her clit. She arched and twisted, like she was trying to evade my touch, but there was no avoiding it.
I wasn’t going to let her.
I felt her maidenhead, was careful when I pushed past it, and I knew when she tightened up, it was down to pleasure, not pain, because her eyes popped open and I saw a blankness that made my heart pound—she was lost to the ecstasy, and I’d never seen a more beautiful sight in all my life.
The second I was home, I let my weight cover her, topping her like a blanket. I propped my arms on either side of her head, let her feel the intensity of my breath on her lips, of hers on mine, I let her feel the heat and fanned the flames higher as I dipped down and kissed her as I began to thrust.
She was shaking, her eyelashes fluttering in a way that made me feel like she wanted to watch me but wasn’t sure how to when her body was experiencing so much.
I wanted her that way—overwhelmed and overjoyed.
Nipping her bottom lip, I began to speed up, needing more, needing everything, needing to share the joy with her, that ecstasy uniting us just as our bodies were.
When I climaxed, I felt delirious. Like I was dying, but like I was living too. It burned through my nerve endings like they were taffy, turned me into a liquid vat of goo as I spent myself inside her as she tautened around me, dragging every drop of pleasure from my body.
When I sagged on her, she let her arms and legs go lax around me, and I missed the tightness of her hold, even as I burrowed my face into her throat.
I felt like a pussy at that moment. Not worthy of her. Familial duty had turned me into some whipped SOB, and I hated myself because this was where I should be.
This was my rightful place.
“Stop it,” she murmured softly, her eyes still closed—I knew because her lashes didn’t flutter against my temple.
“Can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Think of the present. Of this moment. That’s what matters.”
It didn’t.
I wanted her, only her.
She sighed, running her hands through my hair and urging me to look at her once more. “We hate Cain, but do we hate him enough for him to have a statutory rape charge on his rap sheet?”