His cock was right there in front of her, thick and long, and Sophy forgot she was supposed to be a shy virgin. This was Harry, and every part of him was hers to explore. She reached out and took him in her hands.
“Oh,” she said, surprised by how soft his skin felt, and yet how hard he was beneath.
“Sophy,” he said in a strangled voice. “You don’t have to.”
She looked at him, surprised. Didn’t he want her touch? But she could see he did. Despite his protests he wanted her to touch him more than anything. “I don’t have to, but I want to,” she said boldly. “Do you think I don’t know what happens between a man and a woman?”
He tried to raise an eyebrow but his face was flushed and he was struggling to breathe. “I think you’re my pure, innocent angel,” he began, and then his head fell back on a groan as she ran her fingers up and down the length of him, playing, exploring.
“Oh God,” he moaned.
“I want to kiss you,” she announced, and bent down.
This time he gripped her upper arms and held her back. “And so you may,” he growled, “but not yet. If you kiss me now I will be of no use at all. Take off your clothes, Sophy, so I can look at you.”
Sophy thought he had probably already seen enough of her, but she complied, untying the strings of her cloak and letting it fall around her, and then lifting her nightgown over her head. She watched him watching her. His eyes were darker, and for a moment he simply sat and stared, before reaching for her.
“You are perfection,” he said.
Sophy knew she wasn’t perfect but now didn’t seem to be the time to tell him so.
His hand rested heavily on her thigh, curving around the pale swell of flesh, caressing her skin while his mouth nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Sophy’s stomach felt as if ribbons of warm heat were twisting together in a dance she had never danced before. His fingers moved up her thigh, seeking the warmth between her legs, the secret place where she sometimes dared to touch herself when she thought of Harry. Now he was smoothing that slick flesh with his fingers, and she wanted more.
He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, shaking it back and forth. “Harry?” she said, confused. “What is it? Harry?”
“I am trying to restrain myself,” he said, and raised his head, looking down at her. He looked tense, the corded muscles in his neck drawn taut. He looked like he was barely holding on to his self-control. “But I’m not sure if I can.”
She ran her hand over his cheek, feeling the rasp of whiskers. Harry wasn’t a boy, she reminded herself. He was a man. He was her man, and she wanted him to make her a woman.
“You don’t need to restrain yourself. I want you just as you are.”
He’d been holding his breath, awaiting her answer, and as soon as he had it he began stroking between her legs again. His fingers delved and his face dipped down there, momentarily, shocking her with his warm breath on her most intimate parts. A lick of his tongue and a murmured plea, as if he wanted more. As if he was torn as to whether to stay down there or not.
“It will be uncomfortable,” he warned her again. “I don’t know if I can be gentle.”
She hadn’t been nervous but now she was. “I trust you,” she told him resolutely, but from his taut smile she gathered he read her doubts in her eyes. He stood up and began to remove his boots, then pulled down his breeches, and suddenly he was naked. She looked up at him from her kneeling position, seeing him entirely bare for the first time. Unable to stop herself she reached out to touch.
When he groaned and arched against her fingers, she melted inside, knowing she could do that to him.
“Soph,” he whispered. “Now?”
She nodded, they were beyond words now, and he pressed her back onto her discarded cloak, his weight pleasantly heavy on top of her. He was still kissing her, stroking her, as he lay between her thighs, and she felt him press for entry there. It was easier than she expected, because she was so ready, and he slid in a little, just a little. Her body tried to adjust and she gasped at the sudden discomfort.
He didn’t stop. He pushed in further, watching her face, sometimes his own eyes squeezed shut, as if he wanted to concentrate all of his thoughts on what he was feeling. The fullness increased but it was no longer painful, just different. When he was completely inside her he waited a moment, and she felt the coarse hairs on his body rasp against her softer flesh, the shudder as he struggled to hold back when clearly all he wanted to do was push and push and push.
“I wish,” he said, and shook his head.
“What do you wish?” she whispered, stroking the hair behind his ear, leaning to nibble kisses along his jaw. “Harry?”
“That I’d waited for you,” he said.
She paused, wanting to tell him he should have, that she hated the thought of other women doing this with him, and yet him knowing what to do had made this easier for her. “You’re mine now,” she said gently.
“I’m yours now,” he agreed.
He began to move with force then, sliding out slowly and then quickly back. Pushing in deep, making her body cling to his involuntarily, as if it knew what to do even if Sophy was a novice. She was aching now, wanting him, wanting something. He reached down, fingers finding where she ached the most, and suddenly she was flying.
When she came down Harry was watching her face in wonder. She felt all limp and sleepy, but when she suggested they have a nap, he grinned and shook his head, his dark hair ruffled and untidy, falling into his eyes. He began to move again, and then she felt foolish, because he wasn’t finished. He buried his face in her hair and pushed into her, panting in her ear. The next moment his muscles went rigid, and he quickly withdrew, spilling his seed on her belly as he shouted out in ecstasy.