Page 97 of Beyond the Lines
I don’t need a second invitation, although I’m hoping I might get one in a few days’ time. Positioning myself between her thighs, I line up my cock and push into her slowly. The sensation is overwhelming—tight heat engulfing me inch by inch. Her face contorts in a mix of pleasure and adjustment, and I freeze halfway.
“You OK?”
She bites her lip and nods. “Just… it’s been a while.”
The thought that she hasn’t been with anyone since that Chris asshole gives me a primal satisfaction I’m not proud of. I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers, slowing my entry to make sure she’s both OK and can handle it. Then, when she’s ready, she puts her hands on my hips and pulls me closer to her.
“We can stop,” I murmur, though my body screams in protest at the mere suggestion.
“Don’t you dare.” She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper.
Holy fuck.
We stay like that for a moment, me buried in her as deep as I can go, adjusting to the sensation. Then she shifts her hips slightly, and all my restraint instantly evaporates. I begin to move, establishing a rhythm that has her clutching at my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin.
“Fuck… Declan…” She sounds breathless, almost surprised.
I want to laugh at the irony. This was supposed to get her out of my system? Each thrust only embeds her deeper into my consciousness. Every moan, every whimper, and every flutter of her inner muscles around my cock—it’s all being seared into my memory, an emotional tattoo that will be with me for life.
This isn’t casual.
Not to me, anyway.
And this isn’t something I’ll be able to walk away from.
My strokes grow harder, deeper, drawing those beautiful little gasps from her lips. Her eyes are closed, her head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. I lean down to kiss her there, tasting the salt of her skin. I cup both of her small, delicate breasts in my hands, caressing her nipples until they’re firm.
“Look at me,” I command softly. “Because I want to remember this forever.”
Her eyes flutter open, green meeting blue, and the connection feels like a physical jolt. Something passes between us, something beyond the physical joining of our bodies. For a brief moment, all the walls come down—no lies, no pretenses, and no emotional shields—and we feel connected.
Just us.
Her eyes widen, and I can see the exact moment she realizes this too. Panic flashes across her face, quickly masked by renewed physical passion as she pulls me down for a desperate kiss. It seems like the obvious thing to do, but I know that it’s a defense mechanism.
She’s running.
Even as our bodies move together, even as we share this most intimate of connections, she’s running from whatever this is becoming. The realization stings, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. The building pressure in my core demands attention, and from the way her movements are erratic, she’s close too.
Suddenly, the thought that this might almost be the end, might be the last time with her, pulls me back from the edge. But soon enough, I’m back there again, determined to give hereverything and experience all of her. I want to make her come, more than once, and have her say my name.
Then I want to hold her.
And if that’s all I ever get, if it’s all done after that, I’ll deal with it then.
But God, that’snotwhat I want.
“Come for me,” I whisper against her ear, reaching between us to circle her clit with my thumb.
“Declan,” she gasps, and I can hear the pleasure and uncertainty in her voice, as if she’s fighting a similar battle in her own head.
She shatters, her body arching beneath mine, inner muscles clenching around me in rhythmic pulses. The sight of her—flushed, breathless, and completely lost in pleasure—tips me over the edge. With a groan that seems torn from somewhere deep inside me, I follow her into blissful oblivion, emptying myself completely.
It’s everything I wanted and so much more.
Afterward, as we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, I study her face in the early morning light. I touch every inch of her. I inhale her scent and kiss her forehead. All of it, to memorize every part, in case this is the last time I get to do this.
Her eyes remain closed, but I know she’s not asleep. She’s thinking. Probably regretting this already, rebuilding the walls that momentarily came down during our passion. This “one-time thing” was supposed to get it out of our systems.
