Page 50 of Love Bound

"I want you," he says gruff and quiet, and though his body demands mine, I realize he is asking for permission.

As if in a dream, I swing my other leg up onto the bed. Without saying a word, I straddle him.

His hands slip out of the sweater, and I raise my arms and pull it off. As it drops to the floor, he moans softly, his mouth slightly open, and I am suddenly aware of him under the covers—hard, his maleness making him stare at me, making him devour me.

I can feel this, this need he has, all over my body. I strip off the light turtleneck and sit there for a moment in a tight pink tank top, glad I opted for no bra.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "Jesus. Look at you."

I still can’t speak. I'm so afraid I will fuck this up.

He's gorgeous.

His hands are so warm on my cold skin, and now he gently slides them up underneath the tank top, the spandex pushing his hands flat against my stomach, up higher, until he cups my breasts. His hands are so warm, and heat roils up from his chest. My head falls back, my back arches; I can feel all this and I want him in me. I want him to fill me up, and when he starts to rub my nipples between his fingers, his touch is so gentle.

I shiver again. But I'm embarrassed. He's probably used to sexually confident women. I can run my own clinic, but I can't run my own heart. Taking the tank top in his fingers, he peels me out of it.

His voice reaches me with, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I say, leaning forward, being careful not to touch his right side.

"You're going to have to do most of the work," he says, his jaw clenching as he pulls me to him. Having to rise pulls on his side, so I grab the two extra pillows and shove them behind him so he's half sitting up in bed.

My breasts touch his chest, grazing his skin, and I am so aroused, so wet, so ready to take him in. But instead, he kisses me, sweetly, on the lips. Just on the lips, as if testing waters. His scent of musk and clean sweat and salt has eclipsed the vanilla, making me moan again.

Again, he kisses me, this time deeply, and he sucks my breath away, his breath hot on my face. Then he takes my arms and folds them against my chest.

His need comes out almost like a plea. "I want to feel you." Then he pushes me back a little and undoes the button on my pants.

His breath is more ragged now, uneven. His chest rises and falls so erratically I am left aching. Moving off him, I quickly unzip my pants and slip out of them. When I turn around, he's pulled back the covers and he's just lying there, his brown skin luminous in the firelight, swirls of dark hair catching the light.

Oh. My. God. This is really happening. It’s been three years.

His cock is right there, throbbing slightly, dark and thick and waiting for me. It’s like he's hungry.

For me.

"Do you have protection?" he asks.

I nod, though I'm thinking, Shit. I hope those condoms are still in the bedside drawer.

I reach over, and reaching with a confidence I don’t have, I find a small stash way in the back. I set one on the table. Resuming my position, I'm careful my left knee is nowhere near his right side.

He touches me again, and then his hands are everywhere, rubbing my skin, cupping my breasts, kneading my ass. Quivering, I feel his finger slip into me. And then from the front he begins small movements with his thumb.

"Finn," I gasp.

But he's silent, focused, and I can’t seem to get any air. He's around me, consuming me, a finger deep inside my pussy, touching high inside, against my pelvis, another finger swirling my nub.

I have no control. My hips tilt as I surrender to him completely and he keeps rubbing my clit, knowing exactly what to do.

His hands drop for a moment and I hear him peel the condom out of its wrapper. Rising up, I feel so flushed and swollen, and then his cock, smooth and hard, brushes against me. He finds my sex with his, but I don’t want him to move anymore, afraid trying to thrust will hurt, so I adjust. And then his tip enters, gently, and I'm on my knees and slowly, slowly, I come down on him. He pulses inside me.

I gasp as he fills me up, and he grabs both my arms.

"Don’t move," he says, his voice hoarse. "Look at me. Look at me, Claire."

I didn’t even know my eyes were closed. What I see now is him. His face wiped of pain, his eyes clear and as dark as the sea.