Page 21 of Midnight Lessons

Low stiffens beneath me, and my eyes pop open. Her face is tight and strained. She inhales and places her hand against my chest—not a caress, but a slight pressure, pushing me away.

I stop immediately. “Does it hurt?”

She smiles weakly. “A little.”

“I’m hurting you,” I pant, agonized.

Her eyes are wide and shining as she shakes her head, but I know she’s in pain. I see it in her taut muscles, the whiteness of her lips.

I move to pull out.

“Don’t,” she says, voice thick. She lifts her hand to touch my cheek and tightens her legs around me, keeping me lodged within her.

God, I hate that I’m hurting her. Somehow, I thought my love for her would make this moment different. That I would slide inside her and make her world catch fire.

“Keep going, Owen. Please.”

Argument is impossible when she feels so fucking blissful wrapped around me, her breasts brushing my chest with every thrust. She’s so tight. So narrow. It takes some work to thrust more deeply into her. I sink in and out. Sensation engulfs me. I can’t last, no matter how much I want to.

“God, Low,” I grunt, driving harder into her. J≥

My climax rips through me in an instant. I groan, head thrown back as I pour my release inside her.

I open my eyes. It’s over. But it wasn’t pleasurable for her. Pain and disappointment shine in her eyes, although she smiles bravely at me when I gaze down at her.

I’ve had my release, but it wasn’t satisfying. Not in the way I imagined. She didn’t make any sounds of pleasure once I pushed inside her. Her face was tight with pain, not passion.

But I’m not giving up, not until she’s with me all the way. Until I see her face contort with the pleasure I give her. Until she shouts my name as she comes on my cock.

Because Willow is mine, and I’m not letting her go.

Chapter 8

Willow

Owenrolls off me, and I lie on my back, staring at the moonlight dancing across the ceiling. My body cools. I rest my wrist on my forehead, trying to ignore the sense of disappointment.

I guess I hoped for more than pain. More pleasure. The kind of pleasure I’ve given myself so many nights thinking of Owen.

Is the ecstasy two people find in one another a lie? Isn’t it supposed to be magical, as stupid and naïve as that sounds? Maybe we’re not compatiblethatway.

Another wave of regret and frustration pulses through me. We showed so much promise, butsomething wasn’t right between us. Was it him? Was it me? Or do we simply not work together?

“You’re very quiet,” he says, lying beside me, also staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m tired,” I answer. Shit, how do I voice my doubts? Neither of us has any experience. It could get better… in time.

But itwasgood at first when he kissed me and touched me intimately. But it was cut short, replaced by discomfort and awkwardness.

Owen rises, nude, from the bed, heading for the adjoining bathroom. I allow myself the simple pleasure of watching him in the glow of the moonlight peeking through the blinds. His body is firm and strong, with thick muscles. His thighs and ass are taut and solid. Crisp hair curls lightly over his wide chest, trailing lower, down his belly in a fine line until it reaches the thatch of dark curls surrounding his flaccid cock.

My mouth flattens into a line as I try to suppress my feelings of being let down. We need more time, that’s all. Time to discover each other. What we want. What we like. What works. What doesn’t.

Owen seems quiet and preoccupied as he returns from the bathroom with a washcloth, his brow furrowed.

I reach for the cloth when he moves to clean between my legs. “I can do that.”

“Let me,” he murmurs.

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