Page 104 of A Bolt of Magic

“No, really. That’s the first time I ever…you know…” My cheeks burn hotter. Why am I even telling him this?

It’s important, that’s why. He might not be my first in some ways, but in others, he is.

He lifts up onto one elbow, looking down at me, a quizzical look on his face. “I thought you said you’d had sex before.”

“I’ve had sex, but I’ve never…felt…had… I’ve never orgasmed, okay? I mean, alone doesn’t count.” I want the bed to open up and swallow me. I shouldn’t have admitted that.

Kian frowns. “Are you saying that whoever you were with before didn’t care to put some effort in?”

The embarrassment burns hotter, but I force myself to continue. “It wasn’t like that. I was his first, too.”

“Oh.” Kian smiles. “Go on.”

“We were young, barely eighteen summers. Neither of us knew what we were doing. It was fumbled and messy and slightly uncomfortable…at least for me. We tried a few times, but it never…got any better…for me. Then we stopped seeing each other, and I had no desire to try again too quickly. My attention was on other things. Then I got captured, and you know the rest.”

“I’m glad I could show you how it can be. How it should be.” His voice is soft, his arms tightening around me. “And being inexperienced is only an excuse for the first one or two times. He should have tried harder.”

“Not everyone is an overachiever like you. You don’t do anything by half measures.”

He cups my face gently, his thumb stroking my cheek. “No…I don’t. Are you ready to try again? I promise to take it slow and to make it better for you.”

“Better?” I push out a laugh.

“Yes, better.” He brushes a kiss against my mouth.

Heat immediately pools in my core at his words. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get there a third time,” I admit.

“And how would you know that?”

“I’ve heard the women talking. I know what is possible and what is wishful thinking.”

His smile is wicked. “We’ll see about that.”

He guides me onto my side, my back to his front, my legs pressed together. His hands roam my body, reacquainting themselves with every curve as he presses soft kisses to my neck and shoulder. When his fingers find my center again, I gasp. I’m shocked to discover I’m already growing wet and needy once more.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs against my ear, his fingers working magic between my thighs.

When he slides into me from behind, the angle is different, more intense. With my legs together, I feel every inch of him more acutely. I groan deeply as his hips hit my backside, and he’s fully seated inside me.

He moves slowly this time, each thrust deliberate and deep, building the pleasure gradually until I’m trembling in his arms.

“I want to look in your eyes when I make you come,” he says, his voice rough and so deep I barely recognize it. Then he pulls out and gently turns me over, settling between my thighs once more and sliding back into me.

This time when we move together, it’s slower, more intimate. Our eyes stay locked as he moves within me, and I see something in his gaze that takes my breath away. When our release takes us this time, the magic is gentler but no less beautiful, wrapping around us like silk threads binding us together.

He’s even more handsome in the throes of pleasure, his face open and vulnerable in a way that makes my heart clench. He groans, and I cry out, clutching at him. He leans forward and captures my lips in a kiss.

Afterward, he pulls me close again, our breathing coming in sharp pants as we slowly come down.

It feels so good in his arms that I let myself be held by him, let myself imagine for just a moment what it would be like to sleep like this every night. To wake up in his arms every morning. To have this intimacy, this connection.

But as his breathing deepens into sleep, reality crashes back over me. This was practical. Strategic. It can be nothing more.

Carefully, I slip out from between the covers, reaching for my dress. I dress quietly in the darkness, my heart aching as I look back at him one last time. He looks peaceful in sleep, his golden hair tousled, one arm still reaching across the bed, which is still warm from where I lay.

Then I tiptoe away, trying hard not to cry.

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