Watching him—a starving, wild thing—I rocked my hips, pressing myself more completely against him, and I whispered, “Make love to me.”
He growled, a savage, strangled sound. His hands finally, finally came to my body and he flipped us. My back hit the bed and he was on me, kissing me, his fingers between my legs, skillfully stroking my center.
I shivered, grabbing his hand and trying to pull it away. “I want you to make love to me with your body. I want you inside me.”
“I know.” He growled, claiming my mouth quickly, not relinquishing his place, still stroking. “But you’re not ready yet.”
“I am ready.”
He shook his head, then lowered his mouth to my neck, then lower to the valley between my breasts. Then lower to my stomach.
My protest died as his tongue settled against my entrance. He parted me with his thumbs and licked me, hot and wet and at once overwhelming but not enough. My hips bucked and he pressed me down, holding me in place with his strong fingers as he lapped and sucked and savored.
“Cletus, I want you . . . I want you inside me. I don’t want to . . . not like this.”
He groaned, but he didn’t stop. I lifted myself weakly on my elbows and saw that he’d grabbed himself, held is magnificent penis in his fist. At the sight, and against my will, I came.
My back arched and bowed and my entire body tensed. I pulled in a desperate breath, the excruciating pleasure of his mouth on me pulling me apart and putting me back together.
I came cursing him, tears of frustration gathering in my eyes as wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy pulsed through my veins.
I was so angry.
I wanted him, and he’d held himself back. He’d held himself away.
Gasping for air, I prepared myself for a fight, but my body was too pliant, too relaxed and satiated.
And then he was there. He was over me, his erection still in his fist, his eyes on mine. Cletus settled himself between my legs, his hard, thick length sliding against my still sensitive flesh. I shuddered.
“Cletus.”
“Now you’re ready,” he growled, his fingers threading through my hair, pushing it out of my face.
Using his powerful thighs, he spread me wider, sliding into my body.
My breath hitched and my hands searched for him, for purchase, because as exquisite as my orgasm had been, now I felt mostly pressure.
His eyes searched mine, but he didn’t ask. Holding my wide gaze, he thrust his hips forward and I gasped. A sharp, pinching pain making me stiffen and moan.
“I was going to be patient.” His voice hushed, gruff. “I was going to be so good.”
He withdrew and the pressure eased, but then he thrust again. I tensed, wincing, prepared for more pain, but it didn’t come. His hips moved slowly then, rocking, pushing, then withdrawing. His eyes held mine captive, cherishing and predatory.
“Temptation,” he nipped at my lips, grazing his lips against my jaw, “you feel so good, so fucking good, so fucking good.” His breathless and chanting confession sounded mindless, as though he didn’t realize he was speaking.
I felt myself relax, the earlier tension dissipate, and I reveled in the feel of him above me, his body sliding against mine where we mated.
“You feel good, too,” I whispered.
“Do you like this?” Cletus’s wild, needful eyes moved between mine, his grip on me tightening.
I nodded, panting. “I love you.”
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, an unsteady exhale escaping his lungs. He was fighting his release and I thought I knew why. He wanted me to come again. He wanted my first time to be amazing.
It was.
He was.
Because of his care for me. Because I loved him. Because he loved me
I tilted my chin, capturing his mouth, teasing his tongue until he gave it to me. His hands found mine and our fingers entwined. The way he moved above me, with rhythm and grace, like I was an instrument, and he was a musician, and together we made something more, something beautiful.
I felt my body straining, reaching for something just out of its grasp. It felt exciting and I moaned, sighed, and moaned again.
He growled in response and his powerful body increased the tempo. The feel of him became more pleasure than pressure and I arched, tilting my hips to meet each of his thrusts.
His eyes flew open and collided with mine. “Jenn—”
“What does that feel like?”
“Heaven. Paradise.”
I rolled my hips and he sucked in a breath. “Don’t.”
“Let me be your paradise.” I kissed his neck, my nails trailing down his chest, between our bodies. “Let me be your heaven. Because you are mine.”
Cletus groaned at my words, coming apart before my eyes, a heady range of emotions flashing over his features, just before he crushed my mouth with a fierce, covetous kiss. And when he was spent, he stilled, his breathing labored.
Eventually, he rolled to his side, gathering me to him. His heart thundering as he placed passionate kisses over my face and neck and breasts.