Taking care not to push any deeper, he leaned down and rested his lips over hers while at the same time applying the slightest pressure to her clit, swollen and slick at the top of her folds. She tensed, stopped breathing. He stopped, too, his cock barely parting her folds, his fingertips applying the faintest of pressures. She was so wet, but her juices wouldn’t soothe the overstimulated nerves.
At least three other options flashed through his mind, none of them the slightest bit painful. “We should stop,” he said, getting a firmer grip on his control. He wanted to do this again as many times as he could, wanted to claim her and tie her to him, but never hurt her.
“Why?” she said, distantly, eyes closed, fingers tensing and releasing around his biceps.
“Charlie,” he started, when her eyes opened.
“It hurts so good,” she murmured, the words nothing more than a puff of air. “Jamie. It hurts so good.”
Understanding shot down his spine like a bolt of lightning. She was drifting on that rush of endorphins that accompanied a hard workout, pushing your body to its limits. His cock flexed inside her, and she gasped again, but this time she kept her eyes open and let him see the tide of desire rise in her eyes, let him see the pulse of blood, faint but visible in her cheeks and throat.
She liked it. Wanted it. Knew how to get lost in it, and trusted him to go with it.
“Pull me in,” he whispered against her ear, holding his hips above hers, rock steady now. “When you’re ready, pull me in.”
He’d thought the hottest thing he’d ever felt was Charlie’s mouth on his cock in her shower, and that was true enough less than twelve hours ago. But in the shimmering, stretched span of time when her fingers tightened then stopped, easing his cock into her sheath in what felt like increments of a millimeter or less, he revised his opinion. She looked into his eyes as she took what she could handle, trusting him to hold himself back for her, letting him see how each bit of progress affected her. For his part, the heat and pressure engulfed him in torturous inches, tightening his balls, lighting up nerves from the tip of his cock to the base of his spine.
He lifted his fingertip from her clit. She caught his wrist and brought his hand to her mouth and licked her juices from the skin there, gaze locked with his all the while.
“You’re killing me,” he said, fighting to keep his hips still. “Killing me.”
She hummed as she let go of his wrist. “I don’t want that,” she said.
He wound his fingers into her hair, a possessive caveman move that had always felt artificial until now, when it took root in the most primitive part of his brain. Mine. Mine. “Can I move?”
“Go for it,” she said, eyes closing, half-drifting again, lost in sensation.
He wanted her back with him, so he carefully withdrew and slid back inside, slow enough to make him grit his teeth. Fuck, fuck, the impulse to pin her and pound her seethed under his skin. Charlie could take it. She was athletic, physical, spoiling for a fight, giving as good as she got. But she was tender, sore, slick and hot, trembling and pulling him into her with that long, strong leg. It was all Charlie, all contradictions. She’d ruined him for other women when she was seventeen, and this wasn’t making it any easier.
She arched and cried out when he did it again, not so slow, not so carefully, but he was learning her noises. The line between pleasure and pain was a fine one, razor sharp, as familiar to them both as breathing. She’d tell him to stop if she wanted him to stop, so he did it again, fighting for control the whole time.
“What does it feel like?” he asked—maybe not his smartest move, but he needed something to distract him. Forcing himself to translate sounds into words and words into coherent thoughts might work.
“Stretched,” she said. “Sensitive. Different from last night. Like you rasped all my nerves with steel wool and now you’re stroking them through honey. Sweet and tingling and hot and so good. Jamie. So good.”
Oh, fuck. “Can you come like this?” he asked roughly. Last night he’d made sure of her pleasure. “Charlie.”
Her eyes opened.
“Can you come like this?”
“I think so,” she said, both hands at the small of his back now, the sting of her nails anchoring him against the tide of sensation swirling around him. “I want to.”