The Brit

She looks down at me, and I can tell by the sparkle in her eyes that she likes the idea of that. “You would do that? Carry me, I mean.”

I smile as I kiss her inside thigh, looking up at her. “Would you let me?” We’re both outside our boxes here. She nods, subtle but clear. “Then I will,” I confirm, returning to feasting on her magnificent, wet, begging pussy. Her body stiffens under me, and I place my palms on the insides of her thighs, pushing them wider as I work her up and up and . . .

“Ohhhhhhh . . .” She fists my hair brutally and tugs, her head rolling from side to side, and I pull back, blowing a cool stream of air over her clit, seeing it twitch before my eyes, before I go in for the kill. A gentle kiss. A light bite. A deep, long suck. She stiffens, pulls my hair, looks down at me with fire in her eyes, and then she moans, dropping her head back to the pillow, tilting her hips, pushing herself onto my mouth. I flatten my tongue and apply pressure where it counts, helping her work through it. My cock is pulsing where it’s wedged between my stomach and the mattress, dying for some airtime.

But this. This now. It’s magic.

Pleasuring her.

Hearing her.

Watching her.

It’s new.

It’s addictive.

She settles and finally finds it in herself to open her eyes, and I watch her slowly drop her lazy gaze to mine, her grip relaxing in my hair. The passion and need staring back at me pierces my hard heart.

She’s so beautiful.

So graceful.

So . . . empty.

I get to my knees and crawl up her body, kissing each breast as I pass, and settle between her legs, caging her head with my arms resting on the bed. I stare down at her. “Promise me that if anyone ever hurts you again, you won’t hesitate to kill them. No second chances, Rose.” My voice is gruff with pleasure.

“I promise.” She doesn’t waver for a second. “But I won’t need to because you’ll do it for me.”

The sureness in her makes me smile. Because she’s right. “No hesitation.” I lift my hips, and my cock falls to between her thighs.

Her breath stutters. “What if it’s you who hurts me?”

I close my eyes and sink into her, the pleasure stripping my muscles of all strength. I settle my weight and swivel, choking a little as I inhale through the incredible feeling of her welcoming me into her body. “I won’t hurt you.” I look up and kiss the corner of her mouth, licking the seam of her lips. “I’ll never hurt you.” Never have I said something with so much conviction. In the haze of lust-driven thoughts, I know this is unprecedented. I know my father would say I’m an imbecile. But this is right. She’s . . . right. Her watery eyes and the gentle bite down on her lip spells relief. “I’ll only ask once. Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No second-guessing. Yes.

I drag my mouth over hers, moving slowly, owning her. Her hands leisurely roam my back as I start to rock gently into her. I’m blinded by the rightness, consumed by the feel of her accepting me in every way imaginable. I’m sure our bodies were made to fit together, every part of her molding to mine. And our souls. We’re both damp, both slippery, both getting steadily breathless. Passion, a connection, anything remotely meaningful during intimacy with women, has always eluded me. Now, in this moment, a lifetime’s worth of feelings are pouring down on me, and it feels good. So fucking good. I’m making love to a woman. It’s my first time. And I know it’s her first time too.

Every advance and retreat makes me shudder, the strength to keep my eyes open zapping my energy. I want to last. I want to last all fucking night, but my body has other ideas. I can feel the start of my climax getting ready to hijack me, and I roll to my back, bringing Rose with me. Her arms go ramrod straight, bracing on my chest as she breathes through the deeper penetration. Her pink nipples point at me, and I reach forward, gently circling one while she gathers herself. “Take your time.”

“So deep,” she gasps, juddering, and I smile, sitting up and holding her around her back. I bend my knees and let them drop out, leaving her room to move when she’s ready. She covers my mouth with hers.

“You can’t handle me?” I ask as she starts to sway, controlling all the movements.

“You know I can handle you.”

I do know. And that’s why I adore her so much. Strong, full of fire, and not fazed by me in the least. It’s staggering, and seeing her in pieces earlier—the devastation, the torment—makes me appreciate her more. And now I know, I would do anything to keep that fire in her belly.