Page 34 of Gonzo's Grudge
The first kiss had been fire outside, fueled by jealousy and rage. This one was different. He crossed the room slow, deliberate, like every step was permission for me to step back. I didn’t. I couldn’t.
When his mouth touched mine again, it was gentler, coaxing. My lips parted, and the warmth of him flooded through me until I trembled. His hand cupped the back of my neck, thumb brushing slow circles against my skin.
“Still sure?” he murmured against my mouth.
“Yes,” I whispered, barely holding air.
Clothes came off piece by piece, not ripped, not rushed. Each button, each zipper, was a question. And every time, I answered with my hands tugging his shirt, with my eyes locking on his, with the steady rhythm of desire for more.
My heart pounded loud enough I was sure he could hear it. When I stood bare before him, heat flooded my face, shame and desire colliding. But his gaze—steady, reverent, hungry but not greedy—burned all the shame away.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, rough and certain.
The words made my knees weak.
The first touch was careful, his palm brushing my arm like he was memorizing me. Then, the feel of his calloused fingers against my soft flesh sent heat through me. Then the dip of my waist. Every inch of skin he claimed felt like it belonged to me for the first time.
When his mouth traced down my throat, I gasped, clutching at his shoulders. He steadied me, his muscles solid under my fingers.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, breath warm against my ear.
“Yes,” I said, desperate now, shaking with want.
And only then did he ease me back onto the bed.
The sheets were cool, the mattress firm, his weight above me both overwhelming and anchoring. I’d thought I might be scared. I wasn’t. Not with him.
He laid me back gently, as if I was on display in the most beautiful way. His lips pressed to my temple, then my jaw, then my neck. With every slow movement of his body against my flesh I came alive. I wanted more.
No, I needed it.
He kissed down taking his time to lick and lap at my breasts, taking my nipples in between his lips and sucking. A moan of pleasure escaped me as I felt my insides clench wanting this. My breathing moved to pants as his mouth reached my juncture. His tongue licking, tasting, tempting as I felt a finger slip inside me. With his tongue against my throbbing clit and two fingers now sliding in and out of me I feel a sensation wash over me like never before. My hands moved to his hair, I pulled as my body bucked against his face. Heat coursed through me from head to toe followed by the most amazing chills as everything inside me locked up and then exploded.
I cried out his name eliciting a feral growl of possession from him as he broke away from my body only long enough to roll on a condom and climb back over me.
As aftershocks rolled through me, my body seeking more contact, he once again asked me for consent. Lined up with the tip at my entrance, I gave him a whispered yes before I felt him moving in, filling me like I had never been before. The pain came sharp at first, making me gasp, eyes squeezing shut. But his hand was right there, brushing my cheek, grounding me.
“Breathe,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. IvaLeigh, look at me.”
I forced my eyes open. His gaze caught me—steady, unwavering, waiting. “I’ve got you,” he said again, softer.
And he did.
The sting dulled, replaced by warmth, then by something else—fullness, closeness, a rush that made my head spin. My breath stuttered, then steadied. I moved with him, tentative at first, then ready, my body finding rhythm with his.
The world narrowed to the sound of his breathing, the heat of his skin, the way he whispered rough encouragements that made me feel like I was the only other person in the universe.
When pleasure overtook the ache, when my body arched into his, the tears that pricked my eyes weren’t from pain. They were from the overwhelming sensation of it all.
He kissed them away, his lips brushing my eyelids, my temple, my mouth. “Good girl,” he whispered, and I shattered around him. In that moment the world ceased to exist outside of this man in my arms and this moment we shared.
I woke in his arms.
For a moment, I didn’t move. I just breathed. His chest rose and fell under my cheek, steady as a tide. His arm was heavy around me, protective even in sleep. The scent of leather and smoke lingered on his skin, but softer now, threaded with warmth.
Sunlight slanted through the blinds, painting stripes across the room. Outside, I could hear faint laughter, the rumble of bikes, the distant echo of a world still moving. But in here, time held still.
I’d thought I’d feel guilty. I didn’t.
