Page 48 of Edge of Whispers

I admired the angles and contours of his long body in the shadows, the bulk of his thick shoulders. I shoved down my jeans, kicked them off my ankles, and curled up on the futon. Shaky with nerves, but in a good way, strangely. Which was a first, for me.

I saw him moving closer, but my body still jolted with a bright jab of shock when his arms circled me.

I was racked with long, delicious shivers. They throbbed through me in waves, making my breath catch and my fingers dig convulsively into his hot skin, the taut bulge of muscle in his upper arms. His chest pressed against my breasts, his hand stroked down the curve of my back, the swell of my hip, fitting me against him. Skin to skin. So hot. He burned me, and I loved it.

His cock prodded my leg. Thick, stiff, long. I could hardly breathe for the rush of excitement. The wild euphoria, and that keen ache of longing.

And the fear, too. Of how vulnerable this made me. It was there, vibrating like a plucked string. This problem was unique. Before this, sex was never all that central to my thoughts. I could pretty much take it or leave it, and I tended to leave it.

Not with Liam. My hunger for him felt like something clawing inside me. Desperate.

He bent over me, dropping slow, hot, tender kisses at the curve of my neck that made me whimper with excitement. “You’re not shutting down,” he said.

It was both a statement and a command. And it was true.

“No,” I replied, marveling. In spite of the terror we’d just been through, in spite of my tedious list of hang-ups, this was in no danger of derailing.

Always before, the harder a lover tried to get through my walls, the thicker those walls became. It was a reflex. But with Liam, there was no wall. Or maybe there was, but it didn’t matter. He was already so far inside it, pushing me deeper into those unknown parts of myself.

It was so new. I had no idea how deep, how endless that inner space was. Alive to feeling. Every sensation, every emotion was a revelation. I felt the wild thrill of leaping into a mysterious, star-bedecked, unknown nowhere, and the glowing tenderness of coming home, all at the same time.

He pulled me down onto the bed and arranged me until I was perched on his thighs, my arms wound around his shoulders, my nose buried in his thick, spiky, sweat-stiffened hair.

His cock pressed against my belly. His thickly muscled arms were tight around me, tense and shaking.

Tenderness for him melted me right down to liquid inside, a hot shimmer around my heart, and lower. I slid my hand down between us and curled my fingers around his cock. Stroking him. Exploring and teasing and inciting him. It made my breath catch with excitement. He was just delicious.

“Slow down,” he said. “I don’t want to come yet.”

I let up my grip. “When, then?”

“You first. Always, it’s you first. That’s just the rule. The way it needs to be.”

I wasn’t arguing with that. He slid his hand down over my ass, and slid it between my legs, caressing my exquisitely sensitive places with feather-light fingertips, all while his cock rocked against my clit. He rubbed against me with a, slow pulsing rhythm, his fingers delving inside my pussy—sliding deep into my slick balm.

Feeling me. Petting me. Taking his time. Kissing my cheekbone. My throat.

His teeth dragged against the frantic throb of my heartbeat in there, working me from behind—skillfully thrusting inside while keeping up that slow, sensual pulse with his cock. My pussy felt hot, melting. Sweetly aching. Longing to melt and merge and be filled by him.

Then something opened—an upwelling rush—and all the feelings and sensations converged into a long, pulsing wave of pure rapture.

Chapter Sixteen

Liam

I hung on as the orgasm took her, letting those beautiful rippling vibrations echo through my own body. My breath was ragged with excitement. I kept reminding myself not to let my fingers dig into her perfect skin. I didn’t want to leave marks. She was so smooth and soft and strong. A marvel of nature. Every detail so fucking beautiful, it left me breathless and shaking.

And she was naked in my arms. Holy shit.

That orgasm had been a spectacular supernova, right around my fingers. I felt so privileged to be inside the sanctum so I could feel it. I wanted to kneel at her feet, suck her toes, lick her arches, kiss her ankles. I wanted to make my way up, missing nothing, all the way to her beautiful face. I wanted to give thanks for her existence. I wanted to make the whole world bow down when she walked by.

I laid her slowly down on her back, my fingers still inside her, feeling the tight, clenching flutter of the aftershocks. Her chest shuddered, gasping for breath. Good sign. I folded her legs up wide, wishing the light was on. All I could see were shapes, outlines. None of her colors, her fine, delicate details.

She gazed up at me with big, startled eyes, her hair a swirling mass against the white sheet, gasping and sighing at my every touch as if she were surprised at what was happening to her body. My fingers were in an ecstasy all their own, kissed and clutched in that tight, slick opening. The rich female scent of her drove me wild with lust.

She was lifting herself again, shoving against my thrusting hand, seeking more, deeper, harder. My cock ached with need, and she reached down and gripped me, her cool fingers moving in a tender, twisting caress—and oh God ...

“Stop,” I said, my voice strangled. “I won’t be able to wait if you do that again.”

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