Page 56 of The Call of Crimson
He lines himself with my center, the tip of him pushing slowly into me.
It burns as I stretch around him. I thought three fingers had been a lot, but it turns out his dick is much thicker.
I hiss softly as he pushes in another inch. He stops there, waiting for me to adjust. A finger rubs slow circles on my clit, the pleasure providing relief and distraction from the pain.
“Take a deep breath, Ophelia,” he commands.
I comply, breathing in deeply through the discomfort.
“I’m good,” I reassure him.
“You’re more than good, beautiful.”
His finger continues rubbing circles along my clit, building the arousal and need for him to fill me completely.
“More,” I whisper.
“I promise it hurts less if we just do it all at once from here.”
I nod, and he kisses me deeply, swallowing my cries as he thrusts all the way in.
“Fuck,” I whimper against his lips.
His fingers increase in tempo, the pleasure helping to lessen the pain.
“You did so good, baby. That’s it, the hard part’s done. Now let me make you feel good.”
I nod, smiling at his praise.
Fully adjusted to him now, I take a deep breath.
He slides out, then back in, taking me in shallow thrusts. The tempo he sets is even and slow, moving in and out in measured strokes.
I moan softly as it builds more pleasure in me. The burn has subsided into a dull ache, which is overshadowed by the pleasure coursing through me.
“This feels so good,” I admit, my voice breathy.
“It’ll feel even better the next time,” he promises.
“Who said there will be a next time?” I tease. “I still haven’t decided if you get to keep me, yet.”
“Oh, baby. You are playing with fire,” he warns.
I flash him a devilish grin that morphs into a gasp as his thrusts turn more powerful and faster. My arms wrap around him, nails digging into his back through his tunic.
I grunt, frustration mounting at the clothing still on him.
“Skin,” I moan. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
His thrusts halt briefly as he rips the offending clothing over his head, leaving him bare to me. Fingers grip the nightgown still bunched around my midsection. Instead of pulling it over my head, he rips straight through the center, leaving it lying in pieces on either side of me.
He runs his hand down my chest, feeling every curve and dimple in my flesh, before grasping my left knee and hitching it over his shoulder.
In and out he thrusts, his pelvis grinding against my clit in the most erotic sensation. The new angle allows him to hit something deeper, and I somehow feel even fuller than before.
What’s happening between us right now isn’t just sex, it’s not fucking, it’s something so deeply profound I don’t have words for it.
Elijah has seen every part of me—worshipped every part of me. He’s showing me what it feels like to be treasured and wanted.
