Page 61 of On the Line

Then she reaches out, threading her fingers into my hair, gently tugging at the strands as her hips move toward me. With my other hand, I plunge my thumb into her, stroking her until I hear her gasp.

“Jameson, inside me, now.”

I glance up at her, and the needy look on her face has my dick aching to be in her.

“Ask. Nicely.” The words come out deeper than I intend, and I see the heat flare across her entire body in response.

“Please,” she says. “I want you inside me now ... please.”

I drop her leg and tear open that foil packet, then roll the condom on in record time. I’ve never been this desperate to be with anyone.

I sit back on my heels and lean forward to wrap one arm under her hips, tilting them up for me. Then I plant my other arm beside her head and slide into her so slowly that she’s practically mewling with longing. But I continue at this torturously slow pace because she asked me to be gentle, and I will respect that wish no matter how desperately I want to invade every inch of her hard and fast.

Her eyes are locked on mine as our bodies join together, and I can tell right when she thinks she can’t take any more of me.

“Breathe,” I tell her.

She exhales, then slowly inhales, and I slide farther into her. The silky glide and the intensity with which her muscles grip me has me gritting my teeth, but as her nostrils flare with another deep breath, she relaxes enough that I’m able to slide another inch or so into her.

Below me, she’s laid out with her hair like flames fanning around her shoulders—a Phoenix rising from the ashes to a new life. This woman owns my heart, but I’m not certain she won’t burn it to the ground. But I’m not thinking about self-preservation at the moment; the only thing I care about right now is the way I can feel her muscles tightening around my cock as she wraps her legs around my lower back.

“How gentle do you need me to be?” I ask as I begin to move inside her with slow, languid strokes.

“This is perfect,” she murmurs, her lips barely moving.

I move with long, smooth strokes where I can feel every ridge of her muscles as they glide along the hard length of me. And when she relaxes a bit, I bend my knees, bringing them up under her thighs to change the angle. With my hands on her ass, I lift her to meet my thrusts. “Is this okay?”

She brings her hand to my heart, pressing against my sternum. “I trust you, Jameson. You’re not going to hurt me.”

I take in her tiny frame—she’s physically small, but emotionally she’s getting stronger. Still, I remind myself to be careful with her. She’s been through so much in the last few months, but she deserves to feel good and I want to be the one to make that happen.

The first few times I glide into her, her eyes flare larger and I watch her take deep breaths. I’m filling every inch of her and I’m confident that if she could relax a little more, she’d be able to take all of me.

“Get up here with me,” I say as I reach down and lift her up so she’s straddling me. She wraps one hand around my neck and leans back with one arm on the bed for leverage as I seize her hips and help set the rhythm.

The view from here—watching myself enter her over and over again—is fantastic. I let my eyes wander up over the curve of her stomach, to her small but full breasts where they bounce from the impact of our bodies colliding. Her hard nipples are a rosy pink and I need them in my mouth, so I lean forward to claim one of them. As her hard, puckered peak glides against the sandpaper of my tongue, she lets out a guttural groan, and I feel the small, pulsing rhythm of her pussy as those muscles begin to convulse around me.

“Oh. My. God,” she pants, and her breath ruffles my hair. “I’ve never ... Oh, God.”

I let myself move harder, faster, and she takes all of me with deep sighs and soft moans. “I’m going to ...” she whispers, the words leaving her mouth in a surprised rush.

I lift my head to see her face. “I know,” I tell her, right before I cover her mouth with mine. She whimpers against my lips, and I kiss her through the deep, long groans of her orgasm. When she finally comes and her throbbing muscles grip me like a vise, I tip over the edge with her.

For a minute, we stay there, me on my knees, sitting back on my heels, and her wrapped around me, her forehead resting on my shoulder, her arms wrapped around my rib cage. Eventually, I lay her back on the bed and lean down over her, my body propped up by my elbows on either side of her shoulders. I kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, then her chin. I spend a moment memorizing every one of the light freckles across her cheekbones and the ridge of her nose, the fine lines at the edges of her closed eyelids, the swollen, pale pink of her lips. I caress her earlobe with my thumb, willing her to open her eyes, but she doesn’t.

“Lauren,” I say, but she only responds with a murmured “Hmmm?”

“Open your eyes, baby.”

“Can’t,” she mumbles. “You’ve killed me.”

My abdomen shakes against her as I silently laugh. “Open your eyes, or I’ll do it again.”

“So tired,” she mumbles before cracking her eyes open. I can’t read the look on her face, it’s guarded. She’s normally unable to hide her emotions, but right now I’m uneasy because I can’t figure out how she’s feeling.

“Do you want to nap?” I ask her.

“Mm hmm.” Her eyes are closed again and she can hardly form the words. I guess that’s a good sign?

---