Chapter 19 #2
“I’m going to—” I can barely form words. “Nate, I’m—”
“Give it to me.” The command trembles against my flesh. “Come on my tongue. Let me feel it. Let me eat you up like fucking candy.”
Oh God.
The orgasm rips through me in waves, my whole body convulsing, my hands pulling his hair hard enough that it would hurt anyone else. He works me through it with his mouth and fingers, drawing out every last tremor until I’m boneless and gasping on his countertop, nearly sliding off into the abyss.
Then, he’s on his feet, lifting me into his arms like I weigh nothing before carrying me through the penthouse with long, determined strides. “I’m not done with you yet. I haven’t even started, baby.”
He throws me on the bed—actually throws me, like I’m a ragdoll—and I bounce once on the mattress before he’s on top of me, pinning me down with his weight and godly frame.
His T-shirt is gone, stripped off somewhere between the kitchen and here, and I take a moment to appreciate the view—all those muscles, the trail of dark hair leading down into his jeans, the way his hard chest heaves with barely controlled need.
My God, he’s bloody gorgeous.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he growls.
“So are you.”
He fixes that problem with impressive efficiency. My skirt disappears. My bra follows. His jeans hit the floor, and then he’s naked above me, and oh.
Oh.
I knew he was big. I felt it through his trousers, had him between my lips before we were interrupted, remember how my mouth had to strain so much, I felt I dislocated my jaw after. But seeing him like this, hard and thick and monstrously large, straining toward me like a rabid beast—
“Nervous?” He must see something in my face, something beyond the horny awe.
“A bit,” I admit rather shyly.
His expression softens slightly, though the fire still burns in his eyes. “We can stop. Anytime. You just say the word.”
“Never.”
His smile is wolfish, making my stomach do somersaults. “That’s my girl.”
His hands start sliding up my thighs, spreading them wider.
“Wait—” I start. “Should we… A condom?”
“I can’t get you pregnant.” His voice is matter-of-fact, but there’s something slightly bitter underneath.
“One of the many gifts of genetic engineering. Sterile as a mule. Can’t catch anything either—my immune system destroys any pathogen before it can take hold.
” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “But if you want me to use something, I will. I won’t want to, but I will. ”
“You won’t want to?” I repeat.
He gives me a cunning half-smile. “Let’s just say it’s one of my kinks.”
I think about it for half a second. Okay then.
“Good. Because I want to feel you,” I whisper. “All of you.”
Something flares in his eyes—dark, possessive, and very hungry.
“Christ, Mia.” His voice is ragged. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me want to do very bad things to you.”
“Maybe I want you to.”
He groans, low and rough, and then he’s settling between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance. The contact alone makes me gasp—hot, blunt pressure against bare skin that’s never been touched like this.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I meet his eyes—those baby blues are nearly black now with desire.
“I’m going to go slow,” he says. “But it might hurt. You’re so fucking tight, and I’m—” He laughs, a little self-deprecating. “Not small.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“If it’s too much, tell me. We stop. Got it?”
I nod, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He flexes his hips and pushes forward.
The first inch steals my breath. He’s thick, and my body resists instinctively, muscles clenching against the intrusion. There’s pressure, stretching, despite how wet I am, and then a sharp sting that makes me hiss.
“Breathe.” His voice is strained, his arms trembling with the effort of holding still. “That’s it, darlin’. Just breathe for me.”
I force air into my lungs, force my muscles to relax. He sinks another inch, and the sting intensifies—a burning stretch that hovers on the edge of pain. I bite my lip, tasting iron.
“You’re doing so well.” He presses kisses to my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “Taking me so well. Just a little more.”
Another inch. Another. The fullness is overwhelming, bordering on too much.
I feel split open, invaded, remade around the shape of him.
My thighs are trembling where they’re wrapped around his hips—I can feel the fine shake in the muscles, the strain of holding myself open for him.
Tears prick at my eyes; not from pain exactly, but from the sheer intensity of it all.
“Almost there.” His forehead drops to mine, his breath hot against my lips. I can feel the sweat where our skin meets, the slide of his chest against mine with each careful movement. “Almost—fuck—”
He bottoms out, his hips flush against mine, and we both go still.
I’ve never felt anything like this. The stretch, the pressure, the impossible intimacy of having someone inside me, something I never thought I would have without tragedy.
I can feel his pulse through his cock, can feel the twitch and throb of him buried so deep, it feels like he’s touching my spine.
My inner walls flutter around him involuntarily, adjusting, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“You okay?” he murmurs roughly.
“Yes.” It comes out reedy and thin. “Just—give me a second.”
He holds perfectly still, trembling with restraint while I adjust to the sensation.
I’m hyperaware of everything—the cool air on my heated skin, the dampness at my temples, the way my fingers have gone numb where they’re gripping his shoulders.
The burn is fading now, replaced by something else—a fullness that’s starting to feel less like invasion and more like…
completion. Like a key sliding into a lock, puzzle pieces falling into place.
I shift my hips experimentally, and we both moan.
“Oh God,” I cry out softly.
“At your service.”
“More,” I manage. “Please, more.”
“Thank fuck.” He pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, the drag of him against my walls making me whimper. I feel every inch of the withdrawal, the friction lighting up nerve endings I didn’t know I had. Then, he pushes back in, a little faster, and I arch off the bed.
“Oh—”
Oh.
“That’s it.” He sets a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust hitting something inside me that sends sparks shooting through my veins. “Feel that? Feel how well you take me?”
“Yes—”
“This perfect little cunt.” He punctuates the word with a harder thrust that makes me cry out. “Made for me. Like you were fucking designed for me.”
And he’s right. In all the chaos of my body, in the haze of my head, I know he’s the only one in the whole world who could do this to me and not die from it. The one person, that one person…
His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point, and I dig my nails into his shoulders.
The pain has faded completely now, replaced by a building pleasure that coils tighter with every stroke.
I can hear myself making sounds, breathy, desperate sounds I don’t recognize, and I can hear him—the low grunts that escape with each thrust, the wet catch of his breath against my throat, how it’s turning me on past the brink.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured you like this,” he growls against my skin. “Spread out underneath me, making those sounds, taking my cock like you were born for it.”
“Nate—”
“Thought about it in the shower this morning. Thought about bending you over my kitchen counter. Thought about fucking you against the window so all of Manhattan could see who you belong to.”
His words are gasoline, his cock the match. I’m burning up from the inside, every nerve ending screaming for more. Sweat is pooling in the hollow of my throat, sliding down between my breasts, and I can feel the slick heat where our bodies meet, the obscene glide of skin on skin.
“Harder,” I gasp. “Please, I need—”
He doesn’t make me finish. His hips snap forward with punishing force, and I scream—actually scream—as the new angle hits something that makes my eyes roll back.
“There?” He does it again, grinning when I wail. “Right there, isn’t it? That spot that makes you lose your fucking mind?”
I can’t answer, can’t form words. All I can do is hold on as he pounds into me, his pace brutal, relentless.
The headboard cracks against the wall. The bed groans beneath us.
My calves are burning where they’re locked around his back, and my abs tremble from the constant arch of my spine, but I don’t care—can’t care—because every thrust is pushing me higher, higher, into the unknown.
“Listen to you.” His voice is rich with satisfaction. “Listen to how wet you are. Fucking soaked for me. Can you hear it? Can you hear how badly your cunt wants this?”
I can. The slick sound of him moving inside me is pornographic, nearly vulgar. It should embarrass me, but instead, it just makes everything that much hotter.
“Gonna make you come on my cock,” he promises. “Feel this tight little pussy squeeze me until I lose my goddamn mind. And then I’m gonna fill you up. Mark you from the inside. Make sure you feel me for days.”
Jesus Christ.
He’s going to ruin me.
But I can only yelp, “Oh God!” as the orgasm builds, a wave cresting into a tsunami. I can feel it gathering at the base of my spine, in the tight clench of my thighs. “Oh God, I’m close—”
“Not yet.” He slows suddenly, grinding deep instead of thrusting, and I nearly sob with frustration. The pressure is there but the rhythm is gone, and my body screams at the loss.
“Nate!” I cry out, surprised at how damn desperate I sound.
“Not until I say.” He pulls out completely, leaving me empty and aching, and I make a sound of pure anguish. The sudden absence of him is almost painful—my walls clenching around nothing, searching for something no longer there.
Made for me. He was made for me.
“Please—”