Page 87 of The Sound of Seduction
He must have known or felt her hesitation, so he held her hand between both of his—his mouth never leaving hers, and he guided her to wrap her palm around his shaft.
Hard like stone but warm like the rest of him and covered in soft skin—a tantalizing and precious combination Wendy couldn’t explain.
But she felt him.
And oh, how she did!
But his kisses confused her and distracted her from the exploration. His lips were warm and firm, and his kiss was intoxicating. She sighed softly as he deepened it, coaxing herresponse, and she gave him everything. Her fingers trailed to his shoulders, first tentative and then bolder, sliding into the soft, unruly strands of his hair. She tugged him closer, feeling the low, guttural sound he made under her hands—a sound that deepened the ache pooling low in her abdomen.
His hands roamed her sides, fingertips brushing the barest edge of her ribcage, each touch sending a spark through her. It wasn’t just the way he kissed her—his lips coaxing hers and his tongue stroking with aching deliberation—but the way he held her to him like she was the most precious thing in his world. That thought alone had her gasping into his mouth, her breathing erratic as his lips left hers to trail along her jaw.
And somehow, she twitched on the inside.
When he grazed the sensitive hollow of her throat, her head fell back instinctively and she sank further onto his lap, giving him full access and relaxing her thighs. His breath ghosted over her skin, and then his lips followed—soft, deliberate presses that made her toes curl. She clung to his shoulders, consumed by a sensation so vivid she could hardly breathe.
“Stan,” she managed, her voice trembling, slipping past her lips before she even knew she’d spoken. The way he stilled at the sound of his name—the reverence in his expression when his eyes met hers again—stole what little composure she had left. The intensity in his gaze made her feel utterly known, utterly seen. She cupped his face then, her palms framing the sharp angles of his jaw as she kissed him deeply once more. She wanted to tell him everything she couldn’t say, to show him there was nothing of herself she wasn’t ready to give. “Help me.”
She held his member in her hand, close to her middle and even though she understood the mechanics, she was riddled by the sheer magnitude of what she couldn’t wait for and feared at the same time.
His hands tightened at her hips, guiding her even closer, and her body obeyed without thought. She felt every inch where their bodies met, the heat of him searing through the thin chemise that still separated them. The sensation left her trembling, desire coursing through her as his kisses grew deeper, hungrier. His lips returned to hers, and her heart surged with each movement, each sigh he pulled from her lungs.
Nothing else mattered anymore. Not the worlds they came from or the obstacles that still waited for them. There was only Stan—the man she adored, the man she now knew she loved beyond reason—and the way his expression warmed like she was his whole world, too.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Wendy’s hands wandereddown his chest, slow and deliberate, her fingertips brushing against the edge of his exposed skin. Every nerve in Stan’s body ignited at that soft, tentative touch; the faint pressure of her hands sent a storm of heat rolling through him. His breath hitched before he could control it, his chest tightening at the thought of how much more he wanted her to explore, how desperately he longed to give her every part of himself.
“Wendy,” he murmured, rough and reverent, her name a force that tethered him amidst the chaos of his mounting desire. Yet, even as need coiled tight in his stomach, his hands on her waist remained steady—anchoring her, allowing her to take her time.
Her gaze lifted to his, the uncertainty melting into courage before his eyes, and it nearly undid him. The burn of her trust and that fragile boldness she willingly offered, left him humbled. She leaned in, no hesitation this time, no retreat. Their lips met again, and it was different now—sure, aching, and full of the silent promises neither had spoken.
The softness of her middle broke him apart. He pressed into her all while deepening the kiss, drawing her closer until there was no barrier between them, only her warmth enveloping him slowly. Every shift of her body against his felt deliberate, like she was learning him physically just as she knew his soul. And he wanted her to—yearned for her to know all of him, to feel each beat of his heart that thudded for her alone.
His hands moved, strong and careful, mapping the grace of her waist. The thin fabric of her chemise was no shield against the heat of her skin, so he tugged at the hem. She let go of his cock, stretched her spine, lifted her arms over her head, and he removed the last bit of fabric.
Her breasts sprang free and Stan cupped them. For a moment, he shuddered at their perfection but when she looked down at her perfect mounds in his palms, he wanted her to watch him take her nipples in his mouth. It was an act of control and submission at the same time. He couldn’t help the way they puckered under his gentle tasting—every stroke slow, deliberate, as though committing her to an eternity he would guard fiercely.
“Wendy,” he murmured again, his voice thicker now, laden with a rawness he couldn’t hide. He heard nothing but her—felt nothing but her. She was everywhere—the press of her palms on his chest, her fingers tangling in his hair, her scent, that intoxicating sweetness of lavender and warmth. Her lips left him, only for a moment, and he couldn’t stop himself from seeking the tilt of her jaw, tracing it with kisses that were soft but unrelenting.
Her head tipped back, granting him access to the tender line of her neck. Letting go of her breast—albeit vowing he’d return—he pressed his lips to the delicate hollow, her pulse beating beneath his mouth like a drum, pulling him deeper into the moment. Slowly, his hand traveled down, finding the smooth, firm curve of her thigh just at the edge of her folds. His palm settled there, finding her pearl as he pressed a little further.
She was so tight.So precious.
“Tell me to stop,” he managed, though the words barely sounded like his own, gruff, and edged with longing. But he held firm, his hand still, his breath steady, waiting for her.
Her fingers tightened at his shoulders, and when she whispered, “I won’t,” the words threaded through him likefire and steel. He exhaled, a sharp but measured release, and pressed his forehead to hers, the closeness grounding him.
“If I push further, you will lose your virginity.” It was a warning as much as a plea to let him push.
And she nodded. She was beautiful. Utterly, impossibly beautiful. Not merely in appearance but in the way she gave herself to him without reservation, her trust raw and unwavering. He cupped her face gently, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he kissed her again. This time, it was languid and consuming, a devotion etched into every movement.
And he pushed a little, flexing his hips upward. She was on top of him and perhaps it was better, especially this first time. He didn’t want to crush her delicate frame and didn’t mind her riding him as hard as a wild stallion.
But she didn’t know yet how, he could feel it.
Her tightness and then a barrier. Something extra tight.
“I think this is it.” She mumbled and looked down.
