Page 25 of King of the Weld
A virgin. Of course she is, raised in that controlled environment, groomed for a dynastic marriage. Part of me wants to back away, to protect her from this, from me. But the larger part, the selfish part, surges with primitive satisfaction at being her first.
"It could never be a thing," I tell her honestly, needing her to understand. "Just the fact that you're offering yourself to me is the most beautiful thing that could have happened to me. I'll cherish that, always."
Her eyes shine with emotion as she reaches for me, pulling me down for another kiss. My hand slides down her body, finding the waistband of her jeans. I unbutton them slowly, giving her time to object, but she only tilts her hips upward in invitation.
She tilts her head back, a soft moan escaping her lips as she tries to open her jeans further, pulling them down without looking. Ihelp her, easing the denim down her long legs, revealing more of her perfect skin inch by inch.
"Ethan," she breathes, her voice catching as my fingers find her center, stroking gently still through the fabric of her underwear. "Please."
I capture her mouth again, swallowing her pleas as I slide my hand beneath the final barrier. She's wet, ready, her body honest even if her mind might still be conflicted. I stroke her slowly, watching her face for every reaction, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her eyes flutter closed.
"Is this okay?" I murmur against her neck, needing the confirmation.
"Yes," she manages, her hands clutching at my shoulders. "Don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping. Not when she's writhing beneath my touch, not when her breath comes in short, sharp gasps that tell me she's building toward release. I slide one finger inside her, then another, feeling her tightness, her heat. She cries out, her back arching off the couch.
"Ethan, I need—I want—"
"What do you want, Sophia?" I ask, my voice barely recognizable even to myself.
"You," she says simply. "All of you."
It would be so easy to give her what she's asking for. To strip off my own clothes, to bury myself in her warmth, to lose myself completely. But a last fragment of rationality holds me back.
"Not like this," I tell her, though it costs me to say it. "Not your first time, not on a workshop couch."
Chapter 9 - Sophia
"Not like this," Ethan tells me, though I can see the struggle in his eyes. "Not your first time, not on a workshop couch."
"Then take me to your bed," I whisper, my body trembling with need beneath his skilled fingers. "Because I don't want to stop. I want you to be my first."
His eyes darken, pupils dilating with desire. "Sophia—"
"I don't know what the future holds," I continue, reaching up to touch his face. "If something happens… If my father finds a way to force me back, if we're separated, I at least want this moment with you. I want something no one can ever take away from me."
Ethan's expression is torn, desire warring with restraint.
"I should say no," he murmurs. "But how can I? How can I deny you—deny us—this? To be one with you..." He shakes his head slightly. "I thought I was gone, dead inside. But I've never felt more alive than I do right now."
Before I can respond, he scoops me into his arms, one hand gripping my ass as he carries me as if I weigh nothing. The cool air of the evening hits my exposed skin as we leave the workshop, making my nipples harden and a shiver run through me.
Ethan moves with purpose toward the cabin, his stride long and determined. Once inside, he kicks the door shut behind us and carries me straight to his bedroom. He lays me on the bed with surprising gentleness, given the hunger in his eyes.
Kneeling before me, he tugs my jeans down my legs, his hands rough against my skin in the most delicious way. He tosses the denim aside and begins placing kisses along my calves, my knees, slowly working his way up to my inner thighs.
His beard scraps lightly against my soft skin, his warm breath creating goosebumps in its wake. I arch my back and grab his hair, suddenly desperate for more.
"Take me," I plead, my voice unrecognizable with need. "I don't want to wait a single second more. I've waited my whole life for someone like you. Someone who sees me, who protects me. Now that you're here, I'm done wasting time."
Ethan smiles. A slow, dangerous curve of his lips that makes my pussy clench with anticipation. He pulls back, rising to his full height beside the bed. He flexes his broad shoulders and cracks his knuckles before reaching for the hem of his shirt.
I watch, mesmerized, as he strips. First the shirt, revealing a torso sculpted by hard work and military discipline: broad shoulders, firm pectorals dusted with dark hair, abs defined but not overly so.
Several scars mark his skin—a jagged line across his ribs, what looks like a bullet wound on his left shoulder, smaller marks that tell stories I long to hear.
The jeans follow, pushed down muscular thighs that speak of strength and power. The bulge straining against his black briefs makes my mouth go dry with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.
