He leans back and looks at me, his gray eyes sparking with flecks of blue I know to be anger. “Yes,” he replies. “You will because I won’t stop until you give me everything that is real. That is what I want and deserve. And so do you. But that is what we have to be from this point forward. Real. Absolute. Honest.” He lowers himself to one knee, where his mouth presses to my belly, his tongue flickering over the sensitive flesh.
I pant and my lashes lower, because I know what is coming, what he will do next, and my willpower will soon evaporate, if it hasn’t already. He wants what is real, but that is dark and blood-laden, and he doesn’t deserve it. His hands caress up and down my hips, over my backside. His tongue flicks against me, sweeping into my belly button. I’m so very in this man’s control but the thing is, that is when I feel the safest. That is when I feel like nothing else can touch me.
“Look at me,” he orders, and as if I have no option, I do as he says. I look at him, and I find the smoldering heat of his desire and mine reflecting in his stare. And feel the connection I share with this man in every part of me. “I’m going to remind you how good we are together.” He cups my sex. “I might not own you,” he says, his thumb stroking my sex, and I feel each stroke in the tingling of my nipples. “But I own your pleasure. And more that we’ll talk about after I make you come.” He slips a finger inside me, then another. “More than once.”
I try to grab his shoulders, but he is out of reach, forcing me to fist my hands by my sides, and endure the pleasure. Endure. Like this is hell when it’s pretty much heaven. He lifts my leg to his shoulder, his lips pressing to my belly again, his free hand sliding up and down my thigh. And then it happens, that thing that I know will happen, and want to happen. His tongue finds my clit in a tease of a touch. Then another. And another, until he sucks me into his mouth, dragging deeply on the sensitive nub, while those two fingers are inside me. The world fades. There is just pleasure. Just Shane, who does indeed own my pleasure.
As if proving that point, his mouth lifts and his fingers stop moving. “Look at me,” he orders again.
“You’re killing me,” I hiss, lifting my head to stare down at him.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“You already did.”
“Do you want more?”
“Yes,” I hiss, and knowing he will insist on more, I add, “Yes. Yes. Yes. I want more. Please stop teasing me.”
“Whatever you say,” he declares, his sexy, sometimes punishing mouth dangerously, wonderfully close to that sweet spot where I need and want him. “You’re in charge.”
“We both know that’s not true,” I manage, just in time to have his deep, rumble of laughter whisper against my clit, but he still denies me, giving me a darkly amused look. “Do you want control?”
“Not right now,” I say. “Later I do.”
His sexy, often punishing mouth quirks and then, to my relief, there are no more questions. There is just a lick of his tongue, which is gone too soon. “Shane,” I plead desperately.
The sexy laugh that follows tells me that my urgency pleases him, and thankfully, my reward for doing so is his mouth closing over me. His tongue and fingers stroking my sex a moment later. And oh God, the spiral of heat and pleasure is almost too much to bear. It overwhelms me and I can’t think. I can only submit to this crazy, sexy, amazing man, and to the pleasure, so much pleasure. So very much and it’s too much, too fast. I want to fight the ball of tension in my belly moving lower and lower, but it’s powerful, fierce, and in a blink I stiffen, before my body spasms and pleasure rockets through me. A deep, low moan rips from my throat, a sound I barely know as my own, and time stands still. And then it’s over, and my body feels like it’s melting to the ground.
Shane lowers my leg and catches my hips, lifting me and carrying me across the room, setting me on top of the bed, his body arched above mine. And then he is kissing me, the saltiness of me on his lips, now on mine, before he tears his mouth from mine and declares, “I need to feel you wet and hot around me, and I need it right now. Skin to skin, the way I only let myself be with you.”
He means no condom, because he trusts me with my birth control. And while it seems a small thing it is not. It’s trust, he gives me. That’s what he’s telling me. He has, and does, trust me. And trust is a powerful, sexy thing. “Can you please hurry,” I whisper, my body suddenly achy and empty, in a deep, burning way.
“Say it,” he demands.
“I want you inside me. I need you inside me.”
“Need,” he repeats. “I like that word.” He kisses me again, a deep passionate kiss that is over too soon. “I have on too many clothes.”
He lifts off me and I ball my hand between my breasts, willing my racing heart to calm and trying to think, but he is already back. He is leaning over me, the thick ridge of his erection pressed against my sex, the heavy weight of him on top of me absolute perfection. And he stares down at me. I swear I can see what he wants from me in his eyes, and it’s everything. He wants everything, and that should scare me, but right now, I want that too. Right now, I feel like it’s possible. Seconds tick by, and questions and answers flow between us, and they all end in one place. How right we feel with each other. How connected.
He leans in, his lips at my ear. “Everything has changed,” he says again, and I don’t need to ask what he means, nor do I have time. He presses inside, filling me, stretching me, completing me in ways no other man has or ever could. He’s different. We’re different and the many ways that is true, are not all good.
“Shane,” I whisper, burning with the need to hold him, not to lose him, and he responds, leaning back to look at me.
“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, but you need to say the same thing. No more running. Not from me.”
“I’m not.”
“Say it.”
“This isn’t a fair time to—”
“Ask me if I give a fuck about fair right now. Say it.”
“I’m with you.”
“You’re staying.”
“Yes. I’m staying, Shane, but you—”
He kisses me, and there are no more words. There is only passion. So much passion. It’s like someone snapped their fingers and we exploded into want and need. His fingers are in my hair. Mine are in his. Our bodies are moving and swaying. And we don’t start slow. We press our bodies together. We touch each other everywhere, anywhere. The feel of his taut muscle under my hands makes me want more. The feel of his cock driving into me makes me want him deeper. Harder. I think I say that. I do. I say it. I say it over and over. Except, I still feel like this is good-bye, like this is the only time I will ever touch him again.