Page 51 of The Butterfly
He nodded. “Aye, ye are. And that means ye dinnae need to hide, or close yer eyes. I want ye to keep yer eyes on me and tell me how it feels, what ye want me to do. If ye want me to stop, ye’ll say so. If ye want more, ye’ll say that, too. Aye?”
“Yes.”
He released a shuddering breath as he went deeper, lodging the thick flare of his head just within her. Pausing for a moment, he let them both adjust to even that small invasion, the tightness of her sheath downright painful. With as much care as he could, he plunged deeper, the way made slick enough for him to lodge half his cock in her at once. She issued a little surprised huff, her wide eyes never straying from his. She trembled beneath him, her fingernails now biting into his arms. He focused on the sting of her mauling him, used it to keep him focused. As it was, the feel of her would surely kill him, and he wasn’t even all the way inside.
“More,” she whispered, her voice tiny and strained, but somehow heavy with certainty.
Pulling back slightly, he paused, arrested by the sight of his cock, glistening wet from her honey, gleaming in the light of the fire. Then, he was thrusting in again, withdrawing, then sinking, creating a slow and agonizing rhythm. The tight clasp of her stole his breath away, making it difficult to think, to function beyond the primal thrust and clench of their joined bodies.
Lips parted, gaze growing heavy-lidded, she watched him with eyes set aflame, the dark coals blazing with heat and light.
“Tell me, Livvie … tell me how ye feel.”
“Full … stretched … but it is good … it’s … it’sso good.”
Yes. Itwasgood—the satiny grip of her around him, the warmth of her body against him, her ragged breaths tickling his cheek. It was more than he’d ever dreamed, even as he knew they’d barely even begun. He took his time, clenching his jaw and keeping an iron grip on his will. This had to be perfect for her, and that meant he had to be slow, give her time to adjust to his length and girth.
“More, Niall,” she urged, one of her hands coming down to clutch at his buttocks, urging him deeper with a squeeze. “Please … I need more … I need to feel all of you.”
“I dinnae want to hurt ye, Livvie. Ye’re so tight … I cannae …”
“I don’t care. I’ve waited too long for this, and now that I know I can do it … please, don’t make me wait anymore. I am not made of glass. I won’t break. Just … take me, Niall.”
Her words were like the crumbling of a dam, releasing the last of his reticence and doubt—the last of the fear he had attributed to her, but that had really belonged to him. He seated himself inside of her with a grunt and a forceful surge of his hips. His pelvis met hers like two pieces of some shattered thing coming together, her slender, seemingly fragile body speared on his powerful one.
She cried out, her fingernails gouging him so deep, he was surprised she did not rend his flesh from his bones. Even if she did, he could not have found the mental faculties to care. She was open for him, stretched and throbbing with every beat of her heart, her chest rising and falling with each rapid, sharp breath she took.
Glancing down to where they were joined, he could not hold in a primitive growl of satisfaction, more aroused than ever by the sight of her wrapped around him. His cock was a bestial thing tearing into her … big, and pulsating, and running her through like some crude sword. However, she did not weep, or struggle beneath him, or beg to be relieved of it. Instead, she tightened her hold upon his arse, holding him against her as if attempting to guide him farther into her. If he were any deeper, they would cease being two people and become one.
He couldn’t resist the need to move any longer, his stare fixated upon where they were joined as he withdrew almost entirely, then thrust into her again, finding a rhythmic ebb and flow. She opened to him even more, her body stretching to accept him, the juncture where her thighs met her hips easing to part her legs even further.
And, just as she had boldly declared, his little doll did not break. On the contrary, she came alive, igniting in his arms, burning like a bit of kindling set aflame. Darting a glance up at her face, he found her intently focused upon the same view he had been so fascinated with—the sight of their bodies finally joined as one after so much waiting and wanting. She moaned and sighed, whispering to him everything he would have ever wanted to hear—that it felt divine, that she loved him, that she never wanted him to stop.
Her words urged him on, his hips picking up a swifter rhythm as he dug as deep into her as humanly possible, releasing her legs so that he could wrap her in his arms. Clinging tight to her, he rested his head on the pillow beside her, face buried in the crook of her neck. He was mindless by now, fucking her with countless years’ worth of need and starvation, driven by the realization that he could never have broken her … not when he loved her so much, he thought it might kill him.
“Mo cridhe,” he whispered, nuzzling and kissing the patch of skin just behind her ear. “Mo gradh… ye’re everything I knew ye’d be … and ye’re more.”
She clung to him, her lips finding his forehead, the arch of an eyebrow, his cheek, her hands wandering over his shoulders and the back of his neck. “Niall … oh, God, I …”
Her words choked off on a gasp, and then, she splintered, shaking and falling apart as her sheath contracted and rippled around him in climax. He forced himself to forestall his own finish, fixing his gaze upon her face—not wanting to miss a single moment of her triumph. She moaned and trembled, tears springing to her eyes as her cunt clenched and spasmed with such force, he thought it might kill them both. Only when she’d stilled beneath him, body gone limp from exhaustion, did he allow himself to follow. His own release proved as powerful as her own, ripping through him with such power, he could barely breathe through it, his body jerking and shaking atop hers as he spilled into her.
One of her arms came around him, her hold weak but reassuring, the touch of her hand upon his back speaking more than words ever could. They lay there in silence for a moment, breaths ringing out in harmony, sweaty bodies pressed together, limbs tangled.
Only when he realized that her heavy breathing had morphed into soft sobs did he raise his head and gaze down at her. Worry clenched his throat, the sting of tears already coming to his eyes as he wondered if maybe he hadn’t gotten so lost in the moment that he truly had hurt her.
However, when their eyes met, she smiled at him, the expression at odds with the tears running down her cheeks and the sobs making her shoulders shake. He cupped her cheek and swiped away a tear with his thumb, then kissed her brow.
“Talk to me,” he urged.
She threw her arms around him and, weeping all the harder, refused to let him go.
“Thank you,” she sobbed. “Thank you, Niall.”
After dozing in each other’s arms for a time, Niall woke to find that the sun had set outside Olivia’s bedroom window. They had wiled the day away in bed, and he could not bring himself to regret a moment of it. Glancing down at the slight figure in his arms, he discovered her peering back at him, apparently having awakened before him.
“Hello,” she whispered, a mischievous smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
“Hello, ye little minx. How do ye feel?”
