Page 89 of Moving Forward

The next few seconds pass like a dream, particularly that infamous falling dream. I’m stuck in the middle of falling, not entirely awake, but not asleep either. I’m just falling through a black, endless abyss toward nothingness, wondering if I’ll ever hit the bottom or if falling is forever. My hands are balled into fists and I’m sweating at an embarrassing rate. My eyes are watery, tears ready, but with what emotion I don’t know. My chest is empty, my heart pounding furiously somewhere against my spine. My airway is clogged—I can’t even remember how to breathe. I’m just stuck, waiting to let out the air I’ve drawn in.

Worst of all, I’m naked. Not in the pretty all-shiny-and-fun way, but the shivering-and-alarmingly-nervous way. My hair is in a state even a bird might be too afraid to approach, with the top curling in a frizzy mess and the wet bottom half stuck to my skin. Then there’s the fact I had to shower without any fruity, girlie-smelling things and use Cain’s soap and shampoo instead. I smell like him now, all cedar trees and the outdoors. I do like it, though. It makes me feel closer to him, like he’s always holding me, better than any sweater. Well, at least a sweater could hide me from his hooded gaze right now.

Since I made myself so vulnerable to him, he’s been careful to keep his intense eyes steady on mine. Thank God for small favors. The thought of his lazy glances roving over my body doesn’t just make me hot, it sends spirals of terror to my stomach. This isn’t something I have expertise in—if you can even call one time experience at all. That was a few years ago too. Being naked, taking charge, it’s not something I know how to do.

I wish he’d just do something. Anything.

My knees buckle and I stumble further into his lap. My hands grasp at his shoulders to steady myself and he grips my waist to keep me from snowballing into him. The precision of his movement is so tight and definite; only his arms move. The rest of him is like a statue, immovable and stone-still. Well, except for those pretty baby blues of his. Those are busy following my breasts as they bounce with the momentum.

I drop my gaze down, away from his face, and immediately regret it. Straining against his towel is the evidence that he’s aroused, even if he’s trying not to react in any other way. I didn’t get to see his erection before, and although he’s still shielded by the thin fabric of the towel, I can see how long and hard he is.

I twine my fingers in the sublimely soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Cain?” I whisper.

“Yeah?” he answers gruffly.

I swallow the litany of words fighting to leave my throat, all my insecurities. When I fail to come up with anything meaningful, he tears his gaze away from my breasts and looks back up at my eyes, thank the dear Lord.

He blinks, pure lust swirling in his eyes. “Been dreaming ‘bout this since the second I saw you,” he tells me in a hoarse voice. “Been tryin’ to keep you off my mind all this time . . . but you’ve only claimed more space with a vengeance. Thinking about what it’d feel like to be inside you. How you’d sound when you came. How it’d feel to be wrapped up in you when I came. Thoughts of burying myself so deep inside you there’ll be no separating us. Couldn’t let myself think dwell on that. Not until now.”

An ache builds low in my stomach. The gruffness of his words, the total honesty and detail, has me so worked up that I don’t even know what to do. All I can focus on is all the sensations coursing through me. Sensations only Cain has managed to bring out in me. Sensations that make me want to do things I don’t usually do.

His hand snakes around to knead my back, his fingers digging in roughly as he massages the skin there. His other hand reaches up to brush wet tendrils of hair behind my ears. “I really want to make this special for you. It might be the death of me.”

“Everything you do for me is special.” It doesn’t matter if he’s making me hike up hills or cooking me breakfast or just holding my hand. There isn’t a moment when I’m with him that I don’t feel worshipped and loved. I already know this next step is going to be magical because it’s him.

He moves us to the bed. In the blink of an eye, I’m bouncing beneath him on the bed, our bodies pressed against each other and his towel lost. One side of his mouth quirks up as he leans down to kiss the seam of my lips.

“You look like an angel right now,” he whispers as if it’s some great secret no one else should ever hear. “No other way to describe you.”

A blush rushes to my cheeks and Cain chuckles, brushing his thumb over the redness. His lips follow the path of his thumb. The peacefulness in his expression, and the kind, loving look in his eyes, brings a smile to my lips.

“I love you,” I admit.

He pulls back, lips parted in something that can only be described as wonder. “You do?”

“I am wholly, irrevocably, abundantly in love with you.”

“I don’t deserve your love,” he begins and when I start to cut him off, he shakes his head. “Give me a chance to speak. No one is worthy of you, Max, but I promise I’ll try to be. Your love is a gift I won’t challenge. I love you too. I think I have since the moment I saw you, and I’ll love you as long as I live and beyond that.”

His lips finally meet mine and begin that sinfully wonderful dance I’ve come to crave. The fireworks from kissing him dull my anxiety and distract me as his hands roam down the length of my hips, until he reaches back to hook my thigh over my waist. He rotates his hips deliciously and I moan, needing more. He growls in response and his hand slithers between us to work their expert magic. I give up on trying to kiss him back and let my head fall back, holding onto anything I can—the sheets, the back of his head, his back, my breasts. Before long, I’m in a freefall of emotions as the entire room transforms into an unimaginable show of flickering white lights.

I don’t have the mind to notice the absence of his body until he’s easing his weight back down on me. He poises himself at my entrance, his eyes sparking into fire as he watches me ride out the last wave of my orgasm.

His free hand brushes my hair away from my chest so that he can lean down and press a kiss along my collarbone. As he pulls away, my eyes land on his shaking hand. He notices and gives me a sheepish smile.

“Little nervous, Peaches. This is a big step, and I don’t want to screw it up,” he admits.

“You won’t.” My voice comes out raspy and dreamy. I have complete confidence in him. Cain doesn’t trust easily, so therefore he doesn’t love easily. Being the recipient of his love assures me that I’m safe with him.

“You’re perfect.”

I lean up on my elbows and kiss the corner of his mouth. “I think I’d say the same about you.”

We lose ourselves in kissing again, slowly revving up for the next step. With every touch, I can feel my body building toward ecstasy again. He waits patiently, not pushing me, even though it’s clear he wants to.

It’s not until I’m thrashing below him that he guides the head of his erection inside me. I can feel the pressure building. My hips buck, needing more. Begging for more. Cain lets out a groan and slides in deeper, muttering a string of curses. The look on his face—like he’s just passed through the gates of heaven—is enough to make all my fears dissipate and allow me to give myself over to him completely.

“You even feel perfect,” he murmurs once he’s seated inside me.

---