Page 120 of Better Hate than Never

I lift my hips as he sets a pillow beneath my butt. “Tell me you won’t apologize anymore.”

“I won’t apologize anymore.”

“Good girl.”

I gasp as he gives me his body’s weight, the pillow beneath me bringing our bodies so close. Relief sweeps through me as that familiar comfort of pressure settles my limbs, quiets the static in my brain.

“There,” he says against my temple. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

I nod. “So much better.”

“Kate, honey.” He nuzzles me until I open my eyes. “Have you never...” He touches me gently, his hands moving in soothing strokes down my arms and waist. “Have you ever had someone inside you this way?”

I shake my head.

“We’ll go slow.” He kisses my eyelids, the tip of my nose, my chin. His hand cups my breast and fondles it gently.

“That makes it better?” I ask, already squirming underneath him. “I’ve been so close, so long, Christopher. I want to come.”

“It makes it much better,” he says quietly. “I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

Gently, he adjusts my hips until his erection is right up against where I ache so deeply for more. Then he starts to move over me, hot and heavy, still kissing, his hands in my hair, brushing every sensitive corner of my body, teasing my nipples and breasts.

I’ve always “known” time is a construct, an abstraction, but now I understand it—how minutes can become meaningless, hours wholly immaterial. All that exists is him and me and this, the knowledge that we’re safe, that he wants me, that I want him, too.

“Feels so good,” I whisper brokenly, as pleasure starts to consume me like fire curling paper, scorching and swift. I scrape my fingers through his hair and stare up at him, his eyes fixed on me. I’m free, weightless, arching my back as I move under him and cry his name, begging him not to stop.

Release is a mercy, a glorious relief, plunging my molten body into a pool of cool pleasure from a height I didn’t know I could climb, let alone fall from.

I’m panting, tangled hair and limbs, as he kisses me fiercely, harsh breaths, his heart pounding so hard in his chest I feel it against mine.

I sigh as our tongues twine, slow and silken, as he mutters quietly, “So beautiful. You were so beautiful. Youare. God, Kate.”

I cup his jaw and kiss him. “So are you,” I whisper. I reach for him, thick, velvet soft yet so hard and hot, guiding him to me. “Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

He groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, kissing me there.

Then he eases away, reaching for the nightstand again. He pours a drizzle of lube on his fingers, then brings it between my legs and works them gently inside, making me gasp.

“Put your leg around my hip,” he says as I settle my head against one of his bent arms holding him over me, as his hand cups my head, his fingers sink into my hair.

I throw my leg over his hip, a whimper leaving me as it makes every sensitized inch of me brush against his length.

“Breathe for me,” he whispers as he leans in for a kiss, his fingers doing sweet, wonderful things inside me, curving forward,finding that spot that made my legs give out when I leaned against the bathroom door after paintball. Thankfully, this time I’m lying down.

I drop my forehead to his jaw and cling to his arm. He shivers when I do, and I’m reminded how much he’s given me, how much I want to give him, too—the touch he loves, the pleasure he deserves.

“Should I do this?” I ask, drifting my hands down his arm, to the round, full muscles of his backside, lower down his thighs.

He groans and nods. “Yes. Everywhere. Just touch me.”

I rest against the pillow of his arm as his fingers play with my hair, as his other fingers coax my body to open, to ache for him to fill it. And I touch him, too, his chest, his nipples, the dark, lovely trail of hair down his stomach, the thick muscles of his thighs, the tight, soft weights of his balls, rubbing them, savoring their feel as he moans against my mouth and brings his fingers finally from my body, wet and warm, and rubs my clit.

Then he’s there, slowly easing in, just a little, before he stops, watching my wide eyes, the breath heaving from my lungs. I have no idea how the physics of this is supposed to work. But I trust him.

He bends and kisses me again, but this time feels different, the tenderness of his lips brushing mine, the sweet, sensual stroke of his tongue. I’m so dazed and distracted by these kisses, the discomfort of him easing deeper inside me remains peripheral, dull and dim.

“You okay?” he asks.

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