Page 86 of Bound
He presses another finger into my core, stretching me. I whimper at the fullness. It aches, but my body doesn’t care. I don’t care.
“Please, Gage,” I beg.
He can create that same release of pleasure. Only better. I know it.
With a grunt, he pulls his hand free, wraps an arm around my stomach and presses something so much hotter against my flesh.
My eyes widen. “Gage—”
“Amoret, be still.” The command is gruff from behind me. I try to hold myself rigid. To behave.
He presses more of the heat to me and the tightness at my entrance grows. I grit my teeth. He makes a sound. “Damn it,” he swears.
When he moves back, panic spirals through me and I dig my fingers into his arm. “No. It’s fine. Please.”
His silence is deafening. “Amoret, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I say too fast. Taking a deep breath, I try to slow my heart. “Gage, I want you inside of me. Please. I need you there.”
Another series of colorful expletives. “And you have no idea how much I want to be inside you.” He leans over my back, his body so very warm that I swear it heats the water even as it falls. His big hands cup my breasts, his thumbs flicking over my nipples. Heat pools between my thighs.
No longer above begging, I plead, “Then try.”
He stills.
“If it hurts too much, I’ll tell you. Just like I promised.” There isn’t a pain alive that could get me to make him stop. Not now.
His lips press into my spine a moment before his braid slides down my side. “Woman …” He exhales, breath tickling my skin. “You better.”
With painstaking slowness, he teases my entrance again. Every brush of his fingertips is almost too good. He works me carefully, adding first one digit, then another. I bask in the pump of his touch. The way his knuckles meet my entrance. How even the callouses on his palm graze my skin.
He lifts me again. This time, we both stop breathing as he nudges his length against me. The burn is immediate, stretching me so much that it makes my heart pound. There is a surety inside me. That he is too big. Too wide.
I force the worry away, focusing on his heat, the need still pooling inside my center. On Gage.
My center burns slightly and then he eases into me. The room spins at how much he stretches me. At how very wide he is.
His breathing grows labored as he tries to take it so slow. To let my body accommodate to him before he dips even a fraction more. The care he is showing proves his fears were unfounded. For all his concerns, he is tender. Patient.
Perfect.
“Fuck, Amoret,” he grits out. “I don’t know if I can—”
I rock my hips back in wordless encouragement and his knees meet mine as they buckle.
“Oh gods,” he pants. “Don’t do that.” But he is in another inch.
I press my hands hard into the wall and raise up on my toes. He glides deeper. My head swims and the room grows almost too warm.
A distant part of me now gets the purpose of the cold water.
“Amoret—” he warns.
Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes and seat myself over him. There is a small pinch. Then everything seems to still. Him. Me. The water. The heat.
With him pressed as far as he can go, I can only marvel at the fullness to having him inside me. A rightness. My body slowly relaxes, loosening around his girth. I tremble.
“Fuck me,” he manages in a low, rumbling growl. “Damn, woman.”
