Move the Stars (Something in the Way 3)

The words affected him, too, his expression contorting as if it hurt him. “How many others did you turn down for me?” he asked.

I sucked my lower lip into my mouth. “Besides Corbin? None.”

“You don’t even realize, do you? How many asked you out? How many wanted to, but couldn’t? They never even stood a chance. You don’t even know what you do to us.”

Focused on his words, I almost missed him slipping a finger under the elastic. With the skin on skin contact, I sighed, wanting more than his feathered touch. “You don’t have to hold back,” I said. “I can take it.”

“I need to go slow, otherwise I’ll destroy you, and I’d like if we could do this more than once before I die.”

“You were so excited, though. I ruined it.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m still excited.”

“But it’s not . . .” His finger slid right into me, all the way to the knuckle. I lost my train of thought, gripping his shoulders to keep myself upright. “It should be . . .”

He lowered his mouth to mine and whispered, “Should be what?”

“It was explosive before,” I breathed. “Fireworks.”

“Maybe you don’t feel what I do,” he said. “Just because we aren’t tearing each other’s clothes off doesn’t mean there aren’t fireworks.” With his free hand, he held the back of my head and kissed me. I couldn’t even handle that, his lips hungry, his tongue searching, his finger moving faster and faster inside me. Still holding my neck, he kissed the underside of my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. I salivated for him. I got wet for him. Nothing mattered but the way he held me in place, his grip strong on my jaw, my body against his. Manning wouldn’t have his fireworks any other way but this—burning a slow path through the night sky to an explosion.

“Christ, you’re incredibly wet, Lake,” he muttered. Was I supposed to be embarrassed by how much his touch excited me? I couldn’t tell if he was concerned or aroused until his next comment. “You’re going to slide right onto my cock.”

I gasped, so shocked that I bucked my hips on his hand. “Manning.”

He lifted a corner of his mouth in a half-grin. “What?”

“I’ve never heard you talk like that. You wouldn’t even curse around me.”

“There were a lot of things I kept myself from saying around you, but I won’t anymore. I’m gonna say them all.”

“Say something to me you wouldn’t’ve said before.”

“Okay.” He took his hand back and stood before me, glorious, naked, huge in every sense of the word, his muscles carved and defined to perfection, as if by my own design. “Get on the bed so I can fuck you, Lake.”

My chest stuttered as I exhaled, everything inside me coiling with a fierce need. Biting my lower lip, unable to look away from the heated, almost angry look in his eyes, I staggered back and sat on the mattress. I had no choice but to crawl up the bed as he climbed over me, propping himself up with his arms.

“Say another,” I pleaded.

“I want to feel your hands on me.”

I ran my nails over his dark stubble, touched the veins in his neck, grazed his chest hair and silently counted his abdominals with my fingers. He let me explore, but after a few moments, he took my hand and lowered it between us. When he placed it over his penis, my throat went bone dry.

He shut his eyes a brief moment, groaning with that one touch. Encouraged by his response, I pushed my palm against the length of him. He twitched in my hand, pink and thick and alive. He was beautiful. All of him.

“God, Lake,” he muttered, inhaling through his nose. “Touch me.”

I tried not to look as nervous as I felt. I couldn’t even wrap my hand all the way around him. I tried to make my fingertips touch, surprised by how hot he was. How had he even gotten it in? Bleeding the first time was normal but he must’ve torn right through me.

“What’re you thinking?” he asked. “I want to hear it all.”

“Nothing,” I said.

“You have to be a hundred and ten percent honest with me when I’m in your bed,” he said. “Do you hear me? Nothing, I mean nothing, is more important than trust when we’re like this. That was the last time you’ll stay quiet when I’m hurting you.”

“What if I want you to hurt me?”

He gritted his teeth. “Then you say it. We talk about it before we get in bed. So I’ll ask again—what’re you thinking?”

“I don’t know how you fit inside me earlier,” I said simply. “It defies physics.”

His eyebrows rose, as if he’d expected any answer but that one. “It’s not anything our bodies weren’t made to do.” He kissed my chest, then slipped a hand under my bowed back, pointing my breasts to the ceiling. He licked his lips, looking torn, then sat back on his calves to remove my underwear. Cupping the undersides of my knees, he slid me to him, holding my legs open, his penis dangerously close. “It’s still going to hurt,” he said, reading my expression. “No matter how wet I get you, I can’t fix that. I’m just going to go slow. At first. Until you get used to me.” Holding my leg in one hand, he spread his other over my stomach, maybe to soothe my trembling. “And you’re going to get used to me, Birdy.”