Page 49 of On His Knees
“Good. Really good.”
He inches a finger into me, and I gasp. “Try to relax for me,” he whispers, and drops soft openmouthed kisses to my lower back. A tingle goes through me, settles deep between my legs. What we’re doing seems so elicit, so deliciously naughty, it arouses me even more. I move against his finger and he laughs.
“In a hurry, are we?” he teases, but behind his words, I hear the urgency. He wants to mark me like this as much as I want to be marked.
“Tate,” I whimper, and move some more as he works another finger in, stretching me, preparing me for his girth.
“You want my cock in here?” he asks.
“You know I do,” I manage to get out.
“You need me to touch you everywhere, Summer. Brand every part of your body.”
His fingers stroke, massage, an urgency in them, but a tenderness, too. Oh God, I’m fighting a losing battle when it comes to this man. I don’t answer. Instead I pinch my eyes shut at this emotional journey he’s taking me on, and will the tears back.
He falls over me, and every part of my body feels swollen. I catch the tang of his arousal, and breathe him in, wanting it in my lungs and memory for years to come.
“Please...” I say to taunt him, and he gives me an inch. I curl my fingers into the sheets, but then his hands are right there, on top of mine, curling with me like we’re in this together—like it’s affecting him as much as it is me.
Is that possible?
I exhale a sharp breath, concentrate on relaxing my muscles as he inches in. Pain rips through me, but I honestly don’t care. I need this. Need him. Even if it’s going to destroy me in so many ways.
“Tate,” I murmur into the pillow.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and kisses my neck. “I’ve got you, Summer.”
“I want you.” He goes a little deeper and his moan curls around the ache in my chest. I gasp for breath and he goes still, giving me time to catch up. I take a few minutes, and then my body expands to accommodate him, and he’s deeper inside me.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, and with slow steady strokes he moves inside me. The sensation is so new to me, yet it’s powerfully erotic knowing the pleasure I’m giving him, knowing that we’re doing this for the first time together. It heightens everything, and I let out a moan. I glance at him over my shoulder, see the restraint all over his face. It tells me he cares about my comfort and while I appreciate it, I need Tate unleashed.
“Fuck me, Tate,” I cry out, and his thrusts grow faster as my body trembles around his cock. I lift my hips for him, and he slides back inside my body. Our groans merge and our hands grip tighter as we push boundaries and take each other to a whole new realm.
“Mine,” he says, as our shaking bodies slap together, the noise a beating drum in my head, where my emotions are at war. He slides one hand between my body and the pillow, and there is possession in his touch as he applies pressure to my clit.
“Yes,” I shout, my body burning up, spiraling out of control in a way that’s almost scary. I revel in the dark depth of his penetration, the way he needs this as much as I do. My body lets go and he rides me through the tremors, never stopping, never letting go of my hand. Honest to God, this is the most intense experience of my life.
“You feel that, Summer? You feel my cock getting big and fat inside you? See what you do to me?”
His dirty words thrill me, instantly heighten my arousal. “Yes,” I cry out around a second mind-blowing orgasm. I move, buck and my sex shudders as he slams harder, driving oxygen from my lungs. Need intensifies, vibrates against my quaking nipples, the world outside ceasing to exist as we move together.
“I’m coming,” he growls. His body tightens, then goes slack, as he surrenders to the pleasure and fills me with his cum. Each pulse amps up the things I feel for this man, and when he falls over me, I lie beneath him raw, stripped to the bone, spent.
“Holy fuck,” he finally says when he gets his breathing under control. He pulls my hair back, kisses my neck, my cheeks. “Shit,” he says when he looks at me. I must look pretty dazed right now, stunned even, by the emotional intensity of what just happened. He slowly eases his cock out of me. “Did I hurt you, Summer?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“We need to talk.”
He exhales slowly, and rolls off me. “Yeah, we do,” he says. “Let me clean you up first.”
“No.” He stills, and I prepare to tell him this is over, but there is a small part of me that doesn’t want to be done. A stupid, hopeful part of me that has visions of grandeur. Maybe Tate could move to the States, and we could have a real relationship. I’ve never believed in love at first sight before. The doctor in me knows it’s a quick release of chemicals such as dopamine that give a fast high, a euphoria, the feeling of falling in love. But my heart is definitely telling me something different. The way he touches me, kisses me, the possessive way he makes love to me...has to mean he cares for me, too, right? But what if it doesn’t?
What if he does?
“Summer.” He scrubs his chin, his brow furrowed, like he has something to say, too, but I want to go first.