to center itself between my own legs. Nothing exists but the sensation of him licking me, of his tongue working at my opening, of his hands holding me wide open for him. “Fucking perfect,” he says again, against that skin. “Don’t you ever run away from me again.”
Where would I go? I can’t get the words out, but that’s what I would ask if I weren’t so close to—so close—
“That’s right,” he coaxes, moving his thumb in to circle my clit. “That’s right. Come. Come for me, and it’ll make it easier for you to take me, yes, that’s it, oh, it’s fucking beautiful—”
My first non-solo orgasm happens on the flowered bedspread, cries spilling from my lips, Cole’s hands on my thighs, making me stay open for him the whole time my hips buck and my hands grasp uselessly on the comforter.
When he pulls away, every cell keens for him and I reach for his chest, my hand landing on his shoulder. “Please, do it now.”
My mind is a flood, my mind is a riot of singing birds, of open skies. “Be sure,” he says.
“If you don’t do it now, I’ll die.” It’s dramatic, and also true. “I’ll die. Cole. Please. Fuck me. Please. It’s all I want.”
Chapter Six
He climbs over me on the bed in one fluid motion and notches himself to my opening. It’s only then, when he lifts his head from kissing my collarbone, that I see the struggle in his face. The animal waiting to break through. He wants to fuck me, not just rock his hips against mine, and the power beneath his skin is obvious. Evident.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I can take it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says through gritted teeth. “I could hurt you.”
Oh, it sounds so good, so clarifying, the pain of being fucked by a man who’s in control. “Hurt me.” I bite one of his earlobes and—yes—it unleashes something in him and his body moves with it. He shoves in the first few inches of his cock and I gasp, throwing my arms around him like he can save me. He’s the only one who can save me, but he’s going to take me instead. It makes me hotter, more desperate, even as my body struggles to accommodate him. Fuck, the burn, the stretch. He’s huge.
My mind has gone deliciously, deliriously blank, my focus all on the physical. It’s immediate. Happening now. There’s nothing but the stretch, the wide head of him pressing inside the place I’ve thought about being fucked so many times. So many times. And now it’s happening. Cole reaches the last barrier and butts against it, the muscles down low in his belly bunching, grazing mine, and a pained whisper in my ear: I’m not sorry for this.
Meaning: I am sorry for this, at least a little, in the abstract way that a person can be sorry when they’re not a hundred percent in control of what they’re doing. He can’t stop himself, can’t stop shoving inside me, wants more. I’m drunk on it.
Cole pushes himself up and kisses me again, its own silent apology, and then he takes one long, shuddering breath. He lets his lungs fill with air, keeps his hips still for this last moment—
And drives in with all the force of his body, breaking that barrier, ripping it in two.
It’s a pain I’ve been craving but it drives a sob from my mouth and Cole rears back, trying to pull away, but no—“No,” I sob, and I yank him back closer, grinding against the pain, grinding against it furiously and relentlessly until it shifts and changes. Pleasure creeps in at the edges, a bright, rushing pleasure that starts out like the sunrise and gets brighter and brighter until I’m moaning with it again.
“Oh, fuck, that’s hot,” he breathes into my ear, fucking me. It’s savage enough to tell me—a second mistake. I thought he was more the man of nice clothes and mint but there’s a dark creature in him too, one that’s completely at home with the filth of the mines. There’s a part of him that needs the hard work and the hard fuck. He comes apart in front of me now, each thrust pushing air out of his mouth, each thrust bringing him closer and closer until our mouths are battling again, same as our hips.
Oh, it’s good. Oh, it’s so, so good.
He curses, low and frantic, and I think for a minute he’s regretting his decision