Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars 4)

A whimper left me, and he was peering up at me as he let his hands slide under the skirt of my dress.

I jolted when he hooked his fingers in the edges of my underwear, and my hands shot to his shoulders to keep myself standing.

To keep my knees from buckling.

Rocked by the moment. That I was going to share it with this man.

Worry filled his expression. “You say, and we stop.”

“I’m not afraid,” I vowed again, my fingers brushing across his plush lips.

They parted, kissed the tips, and then he was peeling the lace down my legs and winding them free of my ankles.

And I was shaking and shaking, all while drawing him closer, my hands at the back of his head as he glided his palms up the outside of my legs. He kept kissing over my dress, nudging it up as he went, before he was laying soft kisses to the bare skin at the top of my right thigh, then moving to the left.

His hands moved higher.

The same as his kisses.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t see.

All I could feel was the rush of sensation when he nudged me apart the barest fraction and licked me.

Kissed me deep and slow and carefully.

My hands tightened in his hair and the air jutted from my lungs.

Pleasure lit.

A spark.

A match.

A whimper fell from my mouth. “Rhys.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

It was affection.

Devotion.

The impact of it profound. Banging against the walls.

True and real, even if he didn’t have the capacity to acknowledge it.

Pulling back an inch, he started to ride my dress up over my hips, the man slowly standing as he went.

The fabric lifted over my abdomen.

My breasts.

Until he was towering over me when he peeled it over my head.

Cool air caressed my heated flesh.

I lost a breath.

Standing there bare and vulnerable in front of him.

Cut open.

Willingly.

Wholly.

With trembling hands, I started to work through the buttons of his flannel, my lungs squeezing when I finally got the last freed and pushed the shirt over his wide shoulders.

He shrugged the rest of the way out of it, the man standing there in nothing but his jeans with his gorgeous chest heaving.

Every inch of him miraculous.

Covered in ink.

Like he wanted to cover everything written underneath.

I traced them with my fingertips, and the man shuddered, his stomach flexing and bowing with need.

“Wish I could give you everything,” he rumbled.

I pressed a kiss over his battering heart. “Just give me this.”

I crawled backward up onto his bed.

Naked.

Exposed.

Shivers ran rampant.

Need blistered.

Thrilling around us.

Like vapor that bound.

Rhys watched me carefully. All the playful mischief he wore in front of others gone.

“You just say.” It was a grunt, and I was inhaling, trying to see through the desire that ricocheted against the walls when he ticked the button of his jeans, unzipped his fly, and pushed them down his thighs.

I nearly passed out when I saw the magnitude of him.

My chest squeezed and butterflies flew and oh my god…

“Baby.”

My heels pressed to the bed. “Please.”

He shrugged the rest of the way out of his jeans, and then he was gone for a beat, his round, firm ass bending over when he dug a condom from a drawer. Then he was on his knees on the bed, climbing up to hover over me, breathing my breaths as he prepared to take the last bit of me.

And I knew it was right.

That I already belonged to him in every other way. Even if I couldn’t keep him, this moment had been written somewhere in the stars. Destined.

I knew it completely when he covered himself and then wound himself between my legs that wouldn’t stop shaking.

When he brought us nose to nose.

When he whispered my name when he splayed his big hand over the mark above my breast.

Like he could hold it.

Heal it.

I wrapped both arms around his neck, and I let our mouths barely brush when I whispered, “I’ll hold yours, too.”

Pain lanced through his rugged face, and he brushed back a lock of hair stuck to my jaw, and he smiled a wistful smile. “You already are.”

He held me close.

Chest to chest.

Breath to breath.

I shook.

And I wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to be careful with me. But the man could already see all my broken parts the same way as I could see his.

So he held them.

Gently.

Watched down over me with his arms wrapped tight around my shoulders as he slowly nudged himself into my body.

Old fear fluttered for the barest beat.

Fear he washed away with those kind, knowing eyes.

As he made me feel cherished and safe.

As he filled me and filled me until there was no air, and I was only breathing him. Until he was grunting low and every muscle in his magnificent body tensed with restraint.

Until I whispered my praise. “Rhys.”

Emotion swarmed us.

A hazy, glorious dream.