Page 50 of The Butterfly
“Anywhere … everywhere.”
He aimed for her throat, tasting the long, slender column down to her shoulder, where he gave in to the urge to sink his teeth in. She gasped at his bite, just hard enough to make her pulse raise and her knees buckle.
“Again,” she moaned, holding one hand to the back of his neck to keep him where she wanted him. “Harder.”
She cried out when he complied, her back arching to mash her breasts against his chest. Her other hand came to the back of his neck, and then, she was pulling him along, backing across the bed and urging him over her. He followed her silent commands, her grip on his hair guiding his mouth to where she wanted it—her collarbone, her chest, the curve of one breast.
“Yes, there,” she whimpered when his lips tickled her nipple.
He sucked at the little bud like a man starving, some long dead thing coming alive in him. It remembered the taste of her, the feel of her, the unsatisfied urges that had once hung so heavy between them. He quaked with the effort it took to hold back, to follow her lead, tempering his own impulses in favor of hers.
A tug on his hair had him releasing her nipple and moving to the other, this one reacting to him just as the other had, hardening and furling tight. She writhed beneath him, knees spreading so that he lay between them, hands smoothing down the back of his neck to his shoulders, wandering and exploring. Her touch felt new and familiar all at once, fragments of their past converging into this present moment, one that seemed an eternity coming.
“Put your hands on me, Niall … please …”
He obeyed without question, gripping her waist, then stroking his way up toward her breasts. His mouth moved lower as he reached up to palm her breasts, his fingers plucking at her nipples and his tongue stroking at her belly with slow, lazy circles. She undulated beneath him, back arching to lift her breasts at the perfect angle for him to tease, hips thrusting toward his questing mouth.
Even as she guided him without words, he paused, lapping at the seam of her mons, once. “Here?”
“Yes, there!”
He delved his tongue back into that hidden slit, seeking the tender bud of her clit amongst the slippery, wet folds. She gasped, her legs clenching on instinct, her fingers taking the sheets in a white-knuckle grip. Palming her thighs, he pried them apart, holding her open and using his thumbs to spread her lower lips. She was already glistening with desire, the scent of her arousal making his mouth water and a hunger unlike any he’d ever known clench deep in his gut. He put his mouth to her again, sucking at the swollen nub begging to be stimulated until she screamed. Her thighs shook in his grasp, but he held firm, keeping her spread out and at the perfect angle.
“Good?”
Her answer came on a sharp cry, her back bowing up off the bed, her hips undulating against his face with a wantonness he had not seen from her in some time. It reminded him of their youth, of hidden moments in the hayloft.
He swam in her, losing himself in hot, silken flesh and the wetness coating his tongue, using the sounds she made as his guide. She had changed so much, but some things about her were still there—the things she responded to, the things she liked. That he’d never lost the power to make her squirm and moan came as a pleasant surprise, but also hung over his head in a cloud of regret. They’d lost so many moments, so many days and nights spent in this kind of splendor.
But, he would not dwell on that. He would make the best of what they’d been given, what they had found here and now.
“Your fingers, Niall … inside me …please…”
He could not obey her fast enough, his first finger already pressing to the opening of her channel before the words had finished leaving her lips. She was so wet, the way was eased, one finger caressing her insides before he joined it with a second. She was still so taut, the sight of her opening stretched around his fingers making them appear monstrous. He could barely take his gaze away, enthralled by the way she eased to accept him, his knuckles slick with her wetness. His breaths came in swift pants that rang out in time with hers, his anticipation for her climax nearly strangling him with the suspense of it.
When she threw her head back with her eyes squeezed shut in surrender, no longer fighting to keep from crying out, he latched on to her clit, strengthening her finish. The high, breathy notes held every ounce of her past pain and present joy, every bit of the passion and fire that had lain buried in the depths of her soul for so long. He took pleasure in driving every note out of her, his lips and fingers changing the key, heightening her crescendo, then easing her back down to soft utterances of his name.
Withdrawing, he began kissing his way back up her body, brushing his lips against her mons one last time before moving over her groin, her belly, the valley between her breasts. Then, she was wrapping her arms and legs around him, pulling him to lay flush against her, aiming her mouth at his.
He groaned against her lips, the scent, taste, and slick essence of her lingering between them. The same hot, wet flesh he’d just tasted now pressed against his engorged cock with an unavoidable sense of urgency.
“Now, Niall,” she moaned between touches of their lips, her body taking on a mind of its own, squirming and writhing and igniting a growing heat between them. “I cannot wait another second. I want you inside of me now.”
A shudder rocked him at the realization that they stood upon such a familiar precipice. How many times had she lain beneath him, begging to be taken, her breath harsh in his ear, legs spread in invitation? How many times had he refused her out of some misplaced sense of honor that, in the end, had protected her from nothing? He’d kept his cock out of her … and for what? So she could become prey for some other man, a man who’d nearly broken her.
Upon the reminder that the one and only time she’d been penetrated had ended in trauma, Niall experienced the full weight of his responsibility in this moment. Not only must he please her, he must also ensure she never had cause to fear him, that he did what he could to help her heal in some way.
Coming upright, he sat back on his heels and gazed down at her with an assessing eye. She appeared sated and ready for him, her limbs splayed over the mattress, hair tousled, face flushed, and knees parted. He could quite literally dive into her right then and seek his pleasure. But this was important; it meant too much for him to treat it like any other encounter.
He grasped her legs and opened them even wider, pressing her knees back until they nearly touched her chest, keeping her open and pinned beneath him. Her breath accelerated, and she closed her eyes, her entire body going stiff in anticipation. He’d given her the reins, but it seemed she would now surrender control to him. If it were out of fear she acted thus, he did not like it.
Aiming the head of his cock at her sheath, he nudged her entrance. “Open yer eyes, Livvie. Look at me … talk to me. Yer in control right now, remember?”
Releasing the breath she’d been holding, she nodded, her eyes opening so she met his gaze. He smiled at her, ignoring the tingle that broke out over his body from his prick and overwhelming the surface of his skin—the urge to seek more of the heat and wetness kissing his tip.
“Who’s in control, Livvie?” he urged, never breaking eye contact, even as he gave her the barest half-inch.
She shivered, wrapping her tiny hands around his straining biceps. “I am.”
