CHAPTER THIRTEEN #3
Ordinarily, a command like that would piss me off, so for a split second, we stare each other down.
A dare. But I’m convinced the payoff of obedience will be well worth it, so when I reach to shrug my shirt off, he releases my legs, tearing off my flowy, wide-legged pants in a smooth peel as he drops to his knees.
Pulling my panties to the side, he glides a finger through my folds to find me sopping. “So wet. Is this for me, baby?”
“Yes,” I purr. “For you.”
A smile blooms on his face as he sucks his fingers clean.
Holy. Hell.
His eyes stay connected with mine, verifying consent before he strips me of my panties. I drop my bra to the floor at the same time and stand before him, bare. Vulnerable. Aching.
He’s still kneeling before me, gaze raking up and down my naked form. “Fucking breathtaking. Jesus. ”
That response unravels every nervous fiber within me.
His hands find mine, placing them in his hair before he palms my ass and kisses teasingly at the apex of my thighs while I wiggle and writhe for more.
He’s merciful, and the tortured tease is brief.
I whimper as he begins to gingerly lick and flick his tongue over my clit, flattening over me with languid strokes, slipping inside me and swirling back up.
The sensation is nearly too much, yet still not enough .
He slings my right knee over his shoulder, gripping my hip.
Then, the same on my left, sliding me up the door so it feels like I’m floating.
Letting go of one hip, he plunges a finger inside me, curling it until the fullness and the warmth of his increasingly zealous tongue causes my thighs to tremble on his shoulders.
I hold on for dear life. My fingers claw at his hair like an anchor while his face remains buried between my legs, his stubble prickling the skin of my inner thighs with a delicious bristle.
He groans in approval, adding a second finger while I buck against him.
It burns a little, but in the best way. And a tightness builds in every muscle, a surge of electricity in every nerve ending.
I can’t breathe or think. “Fuck, Wells. Oh God.”
“That’s it, baby. Come for me, Ives. Now.” His voice is husky and stern, his order sending me right over the edge.
I’m no longer floating. I’m fucking flying.
Something explosive rips through me, poaching my strength until I’m curled over his head, spasming.
His mouth and fingers never stop as I quake around him.
When he slides us down, puddling to the floor like a melted snowman, I have no words.
I’ve orgasmed, of my own accord, countless times, but that was something entirely new.
My body is still convulsing as I straddle him on the floor, a sheen of sweat glazing every inch of my skin.
He holds me there, in his tight embrace, for far more than a minute or two, before finally whispering in my ear, “I’ll be starting every morning like that, the flavor of your sweet cunt coating my tongue. Fuck, baby.”
His words draw a gasp out of me, so he holds me a bit snugger, fingers scratching up and down my back and playing with my hair.
The moment seems too tender for Wells, and yet it feels exactly right.
My mind begins to slip away—his feathery touch, his hand petting my head, his breathing steadying mine, causing my imagination to veer to other places.
I tip my chin up. “Wells, that was … I don’t know what that was. But I want more—to taste you, to have you inside me. ”
Planting an adoring nibble on my lip, he dusts his thumb over my cheekbone. “That’s good because we’re just getting started. I wanted you to catch your breath.”
He stands with me hooked on to him like a koala bear and moves us to the bed, propping himself against the headboard. “I don’t usually repeat myself, but for the sake of clarity, this is it. You’re mine now. Every part of you. You’ve been mine from the start, but now, you know it too. Understand?”
His claim on me sends my pulse skyrocketing.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He ghosts his fingers over my still-sensitive heat, drawing out a whimper that has his eyes crinkling with lust yet still hooded with warning. “Don’t test me. Someone touches you, they don’t disappear or lose a finger; they lose their life.”
That should be a red flag, an admission that sends me running, but instead, it makes me feel safe and cherished, especially after that guy roofied me. But Wells has had his share of disappearances and nights out since I’ve been with him, so I can’t help but push back.
I tilt my head, fingers clasped behind his neck, toying with his hair. “And what about you? Do I get to kill any woman who touches you?”
A grin climbs to his ears as he keeps circling my clit, just enough to leave me hungry. “I would expect nothing less, but that will never happen. There’s only you, Little Storm. Always.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t expect this dreamy thirty-one-year-old man to be inexperienced. I’m not naive. But I do expect to be told the truth.
I grip his wrist, ceasing any movement. “Seriously? I’m giving you my purity. All I’m asking in return is your honesty. I deserve that.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone, Ivanna. You have my honesty. Ask me.”
“Okay.” I huff, hating that I brought the conversation here when we’re finally moving forward, but also knowing it’s necessary. “You were out all night on more than one occasion, Wells. When was the last time you slept with someone?”
“Those nights away from you were for work,” he says, and his emeralds shout transparency. “It’s been years.”
“Years?” I gasp. “Why?”
“Two since I’ve even touched someone, and that didn’t go anywhere. And no other woman has ever been in our home, other than housekeeping.” His gaze dances all over my face. “I was waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
He sighs, both palms rising to cradle my cheeks. “You, Little Storm. I was waiting for you.”
Good God , what is this man doing to me?
The hoarse tenor delivering that admission tells me he believes it. And in the depths of my heart, I understand—or want to. I’ve been asked out plenty of times, but no one ever felt right. I was waiting for a sense of belonging, a connection, a thrill. The wind who was willing to guide my sails.
Waiting for Wells.
When his lips connect with mine again, I come undone, tasting myself on his tongue and eager to have all of him, to let him claim me like he wants.
He throws me onto my back, and my legs curl around his waist as he sucks on my nipple, holding both of my wrists in his hand.
The lack of control unhinges me further, and I try to shove his sweatpants down his legs with my heels. Desperate to feel him.
“Wait,” he orders. “I’ll set the pace.”
“I’m on birth control.” So, out flies one of the many thoughts in my head.
He chuckles, biting my nipple and shooting a delightful zing of pain through it. “Good. For now. I won’t ever be fucking my wife with a condom.”
My wife. I can’t get enough of that.
His lips coast up over my collarbone and shoulder to my neck, chilled bumps erupting over the whole of me. I arch, offering him more as his fingers tickle over my ribs and stomach and hips until they’re thrusting inside me.
His teeth snag my earlobe. “You’re drenched again, Ives.” He pulls back, releasing my wrists. “Keep them there.”
That demand, my eagerness to do whatever he tells me, and the confidence that he seems to have this all under control paints this encounter in a liberating vibrancy rather than an intimidating charcoal. Bright and vivid hues portraying my first time.
When his joggers and boxers drop to the ground, my eyes widen at the satin-skinned cock saluting me.
I don’t have much experience with dicks, but Wells seems large, in girth and length.
Not so big that it’s terrifying though. I once read a dark romance where the heroine claimed the love interest had a horse dick—not to be confused with hung like a horse .
She meant the size compared. Literally. More power to the girls who are turned on by such a monstrosity, but anything that could belong on a half-ton animal does not belong inside me.
His lips twitch with a mirthful smirk, as though he were privy to my inner monologue regarding zoo-animal comparatives to his lower half. “It’ll fit,” he promises as he crawls over my outstretched body, and at my incoherent murmuring, he adds, “We’ll fit together perfectly.”
God, I love the sound of that.
Spreading my legs wide with his knees, he teases my opening with the tip of his cock. “Eyes on me the whole time. Understood?”
“Yes.” I swallow.
“It’s going to hurt, but I’ll make it feel good too.” He hovers above me, hands pinning mine to the bed, and kisses my nose while he glides slowly inside me.
And as he deepens his position, inch by inch—a glorious, burning fullness splitting the depths of my center—I surrender all that I am. There’s no going back. Forever and always, I’ll belong to Gavin Wells.