I hold my breath. My throat closes up. I can’t swallow.
He runs a thumb across my nipple, pinching—Ow! A hiss of pain shoots from my lips. His eyes are closed as he continues pinching and pulling at my sore breast. My jaw locks down against a cry, but a whimper escapes my throat.
His eyes find mine. He blinks a few times, clearing the arousal from his expression. His eyebrows draw together. “Mouse? Fuck.” He rips his body from mine and scampers to the opposite end of the bed. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” Both his hands plow through his hair, over and over. “I’m sorry. I lost control for a second, but…” An agonized groan rumbles his chest. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?” He tips his chin to look at me. “Mouse? Talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”
I nod and take a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”
“Really? Because you look terrified.” He drops his head, as if the shame of what happened weighs too much.
“Oh, uh… yeah, but that’s not you, it’s me. I need to—”
“No, don’t do that shit. This is not your fault. It’s mine. I just… something snapped, and it was like I couldn’t get enough of you.” He scrubs his face. “I’m losing my damn mind,” he mumbles into his hands.
My stomach drops at the genuine remorse I see in his face and hear in his words. He’s probably been with girls who love the aggressive sex. I didn’t hate his loss of control, or the power he threw behind his hips. I want him to let go when he’s with me. To experience the same freedom that I do when we’re together. But in order to do that, there needs to be trust. So the real question is, do I trust Blake? Trust him to be himself and let go, but not hurt me?
“I don’t want you to have to be someone else around me, Blake. You’re a fighter. You’re aggressive in the octagon and outside of it. And that includes what happens in your bed. It may take some time, but I’ll come around. Just, please…” How do I say this without sounding desperate? “Don’t give up on me.”
His eyes are big, as if he’s seeing a different side to me and it’s taking a moment to sink in. “Or you me.”
I hold out my arms and he falls into them. Things got intense, but he didn’t shut me out. I’m beginning to associate this selfless behavior with Blake. He’s always concerned for what’s best for me. But what about what he wants? I have to try harder to be the girl he deserves. Not the crybaby who can’t get over her past mistakes.
Starting with soft kisses of forgiveness, I work my mouth from his neck to his jaw. Breathing in his woodsy scent helps me to relax and re-awakens my need.
He runs his hands from my bottom to my shoulders, his hands worshiping with their touch. He treats my lips like they’re breakable, molding his to mine with the pressure of a butterfly wing. Tentative, allowing me to set the pace, he doesn’t push. Fire flames deep within, and the urge to lose control threatens to overtake me.
I dip my tongue into his mouth and moan into the slick, welcoming warmth. His hands flex against my hips as I move in a sensual rhythm. Pleasure zaps through my nerves with every unhurried slide.
Realization floods my senses. What Blake said last night is true. I can feel it now. This isn’t just sex; this is something bigger.
Rolling me to my side, he hitches my leg to his hip. “I promise I’ll go slow.”
My answer is in my kiss. I trust him.
He slides into me, slow and sensual. Long pulls followed by deliberate thrusts, as if each movement proclaims his promise. He’s not giving up on me.
Intense and unrelenting, my orgasm builds. I dig my fingernails into the firm muscles of his backside, pressing him closer, desperate for more. He breaks the kiss, panting, his face screwed tight. I pull his lip between my teeth. Please. He groans, a light sheen of sweat on his chest. He’s holding back, and it’s killing him.
“It’s okay.” My hips move on their own, attempting to draw in what he’s holding back.
He shakes his head, his breath coming faster, his grip tightening against my thigh.
“Please. I want it.”
With a slight recoil, he grimaces and shakes his head.
What can I say to get him to understand?
“Blake.” Cupping his jaw, I lock my gaze on his, and I’m met with his tortured emerald stare. “I trust you.”
His movements still, and he scrutinizes my face. With a shove off the mattress, he rolls me to my back. Hips pinning me down, his huge shoulders loom over me, and his arms lock me in. My heart hiccups with memories that melt away before they materialize.
Blake would never hurt me.
He flexes his hips and groans. “You okay?” His voice cracks, heavy with emotion.