It also scared the hell out of her. But she didn’t resist at all when he pressed her back onto the mattress, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders as he stared down at her.
He didn’t move, not for a long moment. Too long. The less kissing there was, the more mindful she was about the moment. The larger everything began to feel.
She reached up, grabbing hold of his head and bringing it down to hers, kissing him deeply, parting her thighs and letting him settle between them. The denim was rough against her skin, his cock hard beneath the fabric. She welcomed it. It was overwhelming. It swamped her senses completely. Made it impossible to think. Suddenly, that’s what she was desperate for. Just a few moments of oblivion. Where she didn’t have to worry about what this meant for them.
Where she didn’t have to think about the future. And even better, didn’t have to think about the past. Just for a while. Just for a little while.
“Tell me you want me,” he said, angling his head, kissing her just beneath her jaw.
“I want you.”
“My name,” he said, his voice a growl.
“I want you, Finn.” His name came out in a hushed whisper.
“Not convincing enough.” He grabbed hold of her wrist, curling his fingers tightly around it before gathering up her other wrist in the same way, holding them together and drawing her arms up above her head, pinning them against the mattress. “Let’s try that again.”
He held her there like that, immobilized as he lowered his head down to her breasts. He brushed his lips against one distended bud, moving his head back and forth, the featherlight contact building the tension in her stomach and down lower.
Then he closed his lips over one of the aching peaks, sucking her in deep. It shocked her, caused her hips to bow up from the bed, bringing her into sharp, sweet contact with his hardened length. She let her head fall back, a hoarse cry on her lips.
He kept on tormenting her with his mouth, and she rode the seam of his jeans as he did, torturing herself, ramping up her arousal. She had never felt like this before. Had never felt so outside of herself during sex.
What she had told him earlier had been true. For her, sex was a logical decision based on satisfying a basic set of needs. But she had never been in a situation where she felt like she couldn’t walk away. Where she felt like her physical desire had overridden her logic.
But there was no logic to be had here. She was made entirely of sensation and need, wrapped up in lust so tightly that she couldn’t escape. She didn’t even want to.
She struggled against his hold, but his hand was like an iron manacle, keeping her still as he continued to lavish attention on her. He moved his cheek over one breast, his stubble scraping against the delicate skin. She whimpered, arching into him even harder.
“You seem a little bit restless, Lane,” he said, lifting his head for a moment, his eyes clashing with hers. “Do you want something?”
That question, that simple question, opened up an array of illicit fantasies inside her mind. Made her want to ask for things she’d never done before. Made her want anything, everything. And more, so much more than what was happening right now.
“Yes,” she said, not intending for the response to be a whisper.
“That’s not convincing either. You need to tell me you want me. And then you need to beg to have me.” He never took his eyes off hers, his expression deadly serious.
She bit her lip, shaking her head.
“Oh, right,” he said, “I forgot you don’t beg. You’re gonna beg for this. You’re going to beg for me. I made you a promise. And I’ll be damned if I ever break a promise I make you, Lane Jensen.”
Suddenly, he released his hold on her wrists. And then he grabbed hold of her hips. She only had a split second to realize what was going to happen next before he moved down her body, dragging her toward his mouth with that inescapable grip of his.
A short, sharp scream escaped her lips as he pressed his own against the part of her that was wet and aching for him.
“I don’t,” she said, the words coming out sounding more like a squeak. “I don’t do this. Nobody does this for me.”
This was something she actively avoided. It was too focused on her. And she wasn’t comfortable with that. In fact, the thought had always actively turned her off. Being subjected to so much attention, so much scrutiny. It was extraneous. Peripheral. Just the basics were fine for her.
“I do,” he said, nuzzling her, going even deeper. Then his fingers joined in, teasing her, tormenting her, pushing her higher than she’d ever been before. “I always wondered how soft you’d be—” he slid his tongue through her slick folds “—how sweet.” He made a low, satisfied sound. “Like honey, baby.”
She was hot all over, desperate to get away from him, and also desperate to press herself in closer to him, to take more of what he was giving. She was so unbearably aware of the fact it was him. Because he was talking to her, because all of it was so undeniably Finn.
So pushy, and alpha, and enraging. Doing what he wanted, telling her with confidence that she wanted it too. Being right. Bastard.
He kept right on tormenting her until her breath was coming in short, choked sobs, until she was gasping for air, and grasping for the blankets, trying to find something to anchor her to earth. She flexed her feet, digging her heels deep into the mattress as he brought her to the edge of climax for what had to be the fifth time before pulling her back again.
“Finn,” she said, his name sounding desperate now.
“What?” The question was lazy, so cocky, so confident. If she didn’t know him so well, well enough that she could hear his own tension, his own desperation beneath the surface, she might have hit him.
“You know,” she panted.
“No,” he said, “I don’t.”
She threw her arm over her face, covering up her eyes. “I want you.”
“Give me what I want. Give me the words.” The edge wasn’t beneath the surface anymore, it was evident. His need for this, for her to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear, not at all hidden anymore.
“I need you, Finn. I want you.”
“What exactly do you need?”
“You,” she said, “inside me.”
He started to move away from her and she grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling him back toward her. “I need a condom,” he said.
“I think there are some in the bathroom,” she said. “I haven’t actually needed them for a while.”
“Okay.” He went into the bathroom and returned a moment later, tearing a condom packet open as he walked back to her.
“Hurry up,” she said. “I need you.”
His jaw tensed. “Say that again.”
“I want you inside me. Now.”
He grabbed ahold of his shirt and dragging it up over his head. Her mouth dried at the sight of him. At his cut abs, broad shoulders, narrow waist. And then his hand went to the snap on his jeans and she lost the capacity for thought at all.
All she could do was watch as he dragged the zipper down slowly, then grabbed hold of his underwear and pushed it and those jeans down his hips.
He was not the first man she had ever seen naked, but she had never seen a man that looked quite like him. He rolled the protection over his length, and she just stared at him. Hard, thick. All for her.
She had done her very best to never wonder about Finn’s penis. But of course she had. She had figured a little curiosity was totally normal. He was a large man, over six feet, with big hands, so she had figured he would be proportionally endowed.
She had underestimated him.
Her internal muscles clenched in anticipation, with need.
He moved back to the bed, and a little flip of anxiety turned her stomach. “It really has been a long time since I’ve been with anybody.”
“I can take it slow,” he said.
She shivered, the thought of taking it slow, all those hard, thick inches, just about sending her over the edge there and then.
He moved up between her thighs, pressing the head of his cock against her clit, sliding it over her slick folds, up and down, teasing her with near penetration.
“Beg for it,” he said, the tendons in his neck standing out, his jaw clenched tight.
There was no point in holding out. She was going to beg. And she wasn’t even ashamed.
“Please, Finn, I need you inside me. Please.”
He looked right in her eyes, and it was too much. She closed them, looked away as he pressed the head of his arousal to her slick entrance, sliding in slowly, inch by delicious inch. Until she was filled. Filled with him.
When he was buried to the hilt, she looked at him again. He was looking somewhere past her, the expression on his face one of extreme torture.
Everything stopped, just for a moment. She clung to his shoulder with one hand, pressed the other against his hip. And then he began to move. And she felt it all. The flex of his muscles, the strength it was taking him to control himself, to establish a steady, measured rhythm.
The extreme hardness of his length, buried deep inside of her.
She was surrounded by him, above her, inside of her. It was too much, too much intensity to bear, and she was sure she would die of it. With each steady thrust he pressed up against her, white-hot pleasure streaking through her veins each and every time.