Move the Stars (Something in the Way 3)

“I did,” I said.

“No you didn’t. Whatever torment you thought I endured, times that by a hundred. I wanted so bad to just . . .” From behind, he pushed aside my underwear and rubbed between my legs. Only then did I really feel how wet I was. His fingers slipped over me and then inside me, and I arched my back with a sudden gasp.

“I want to see you do that every day until I die,” he grated out.

Forever. He was completely mine, he’d said, and I was his. Emboldened, I placed my hands on his shoulders and held on as he touched me for the first time. His tenderness surprised me after years of suppressing his desires, but as I looked into his eyes, I read the heat there—the same suppressed fervor I’d seen in the foyer years ago. I didn’t want him to hold back anymore. “I’m ready,” I said.

“So am I,” he murmured. “I could spend the day exploring every inch of you, Lake.” He took my panties off all the way. “But before I do, I want to feel you in a way I’ve denied us for so long.”

My heart skipped. I wasn’t yet used to this side of him, the one who gave me what I asked for. Manning and I were about to have sex. Manning. Me. Sex. I had wanted it so desperately for so long—did I know what I was asking for? “Now?” I asked.

“Yes, now. You want to wait another six years?”

I tried to catch my breath. I needed to relax. This was Manning, not some guy I’d picked up at a bar. That didn’t help, though, because this was Manning. He could hurt me in so many ways, physically the least of them.

I spread my legs wider as he adjusted his hips and began to enter me. I lost my breath and didn’t hear anything he said after that. The pain was real. Everything wonderful about the moment for which I’d waited so long was reduced to the pressure between my legs, the feeling of being stretched wider than I was supposed to.

“Fuck,” he breathed, pulling up my top, exposing my bra to kiss my chest. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t speak, so I nodded hard and focused on the weight of what we were doing—and Manning, real and solid on top of me. I dropped a hand onto the feather comforter, satisfied with the way it compressed in my fist. For years, all he’d done was hold back. I wanted him unbridled. I wanted him as hard and as fast as he wanted to give it to me.

“You’re so . . . Jesus Christ, you’re tight,” he said, sounding almost surprised as he slid partway out and pushed back in.

Why, if it hurt, did I want him to do that again? And again and again? His most exquisite agony felt better than any other touch I’d received. “Please, Manning,” I said. “Just do it.”

“Do what?”

Take my virginity. “I want you all the way in, right now,” I said, pulling on his hips.

He looked between us. “You’re ready for me, but you’re really fucking tight, Lake. I’ve never felt anything like it. If I thrust, it’ll hurt.”

After all the times I’d claimed to be a grownup, I couldn’t stand the thought that Manning might see me as a child. I looked into his eyes, thumbing the tiny scar on his lip. “I want all of you. Now. I can take it. Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“Look at you.” He kissed me. “You’re so fucking beautiful. So sexy,” he breathed into my mouth. “Relax for me and know that you are giving me the world right now.”

With his reassurances, I released the tension in my legs, opening wider for him. It wasn’t enough to make it feel good, but when he looked me in the face, his brows furrowing with his own pain or ecstasy, my world opened up as well. No matter what, I’d never stopped loving him for a second. “Please,” I whispered.

Manning kept his eyes on mine and thrust deep, ripping me open. “Oh my God,” I cried as a searing pain burnt a path all the way to my scalp.

“What? What happened?” Manning’s voice sounded distant. “Lake?”

It took me a moment to realize I was squeezing my eyes shut, one hand tearing at the bedspread while I nearly drew blood from his back with the other. He pulled away, but I scrambled to keep him there. “Wait.” I blinked his beautiful face into focus. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Keep going.”

“You’re sorry?” he asked, incredulous, his forehead wrinkling. “What was that? You’re stiff as a board.” He took my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Tell me what . . .”

My heart pounded so hard, there was no way he didn’t feel it against his chest. I hung on to him, trying to quell my queasiness. Realization dawned in his expression the same moment I opened my mouth. “I’m . . .” I started. “I’ve never . . .”