Page 107 of Lesson In Forgiveness

If she told him a shovel to the back of her head, he probably wouldn’t like it. In all honesty, she didn’t know. She was physically and psychologically braced for the pain that came with sex; how did anyone switch that off?

“Lift your hands above your head, Tabby. Now,” he added in a dark, authoritative tone that cruised through her blood, winding through her muscles until they trembled.

She obeyed because he was the only one with any power over her. His voice was both freedom and a leash. As she raised her arms, crossing her wrists on the pillow over her head, her body stretched beneath him, encouraging her pelvis to open.

Wrapping his fingers around the joints, he pressed them into the pillow with a biting grip, rendering her immobile. “Next time, my cuffs will be on these wrists, on your ankles. I’m going to tie you down and spend hours exploring you from head to toe. I think I’ll dedicate an hour just to licking this gorgeous cunt, feeling you squeeze my tongue as hard as you’re clamping down on the head of my cock.”

Her toes curled at the reminder. The heavy weight of him was poised between her legs, his crown barely seated inside her entrance. All she had to do was soften, submit, and he’d own her.

“Gonna make you come over and over again, little tiger. My fingers milking orgasms from you inside and out, my tongue lapping up all the cream. This shy little clit won’t know what to do with itself,” he mused, chuckling when her eyes widened. “By the time I’m done with you, Tabby, my name will throb through your veins with every heartbeat.”

She didn’t doubt that in the slightest. The experiences he’d given her with his hands and mouth were balms on raw wounds, his skill obvious and generous to say the least. The memory of that, of how careful he was, how dedicated to her pleasure he’d been, was enough to ease the strain of holding herself rigid.

“Like that, do you?” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against hers. “Want to feel me inside you with every breath, little tiger? Hear my voice in your dreams, smell me on your skin? It feels good, right, to be close to someone. Skin to skin, warm and safe.”

Maybe he had a point. Despite the physical and emotional exposure, there was a comfort she’d never expected from being naked with a man. The heat of his body chased away the chill in her bones; the press of his skin against hers did strange things to her nervous system.

She wanted to burrow into him, hide beneath his protection.

“That’s my good girl, just relax a little more.” His hips rolled slowly, adding gentle pressure against her sex. “Take a deep breath, count to four, and blow it out.”

Oh, damn that tone. Tabitha breathed in so deep, she felt her breasts compress harder into his chest. She held the air in her lungs until spots danced across her vision like tiny red stars and Grit admonished her with a sharp nip to her collarbone; she didn’t just blow it out, it exploded free on what sounded awfully like a sob.

“Shush, little tiger. Everything’s fine.”

Hands fisting, she accepted his first thrust stoically, struggling to stop the pain showing on her face. Teeth biting into her bottom lip, she managed not to scream as panic tore through her, the sense of being suddenly and uncomfortably full overwhelmed her.

The second drive of his hips slid his cock deeper, stretching her internal muscles to the sound of broken whimpers. The third… fuck, the third seated him completely, his crown somewhere in the vicinity of her cervix, and the wide root of his shaft grinding against her clit.

“Easy, Tabby. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Every muscle in his body was poised for action, yet he didn’t move. His breathing was slow and steady; not the shallow, rapid puffs she was accustomed to before a guy blew his load prematurely—not that she’d ever complained.

The faster the better, in her opinion.

Grit wasn’t a one-pump chump. The pride and adoration in his eyes triumphed over the lust, which somehow made her feel more secure. He wasn’t chasing the quickest orgasm, he was waiting—with the patience of a saint—for her to gain her equilibrium.

Admittedly, her pussy was relieved to have something hard and thick to clamp down on, alleviating the annoying ache gnawing at her lower abdomen. Squeeze and release, squeeze and release. Tingles spread over her skin like a rash, needy and insistent, as her hips tilted.

“That’s what I want, little tiger. Show me what you need.”

“Please.” Why the hell was her voice so thready?

“More?”

Because she hated how her voice sounded right now, she nodded hesitantly. He wasn’t hurting her—the discomfort was bearable—but he hadn’t started jabbing his dick into her yet, and that was the worst part.

He teased her mouth with his. “Feeling brave enough to give me a kiss?”

“Can I have my hands back?”

He grinned. “No.”

What the hell did it matter anymore? He’d claimed her fully, broken down every barrier and finally gotten her where he wanted her. She hated kissing almost as much as she loathed sex, yet look at her now. Impaled on a thick shaft, fear ebbing, needing something to spread those tingles further.

She mimicked his teasing brush of lips over lips. “There.”

“Try again.”

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