Chapter 7 #2
“I need you to understand something.” His thumb rubs over the inside of my wrist. “I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in a long damn time. But I’m not taking that from you because we got carried away.”
My chest tightens. “You wouldn’t be taking it,” I whisper. “I’m giving it to you.”
His eyes close briefly, like that hurts him. When he opens them again, they’re burning. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“No doubts?”
I shake my head.
“Because if we stop right now, I’ll still hold you all night. I’ll still want you in the morning. Nothing changes.”
My throat grows thick. This man. This impossible, intense, careful man.
“I don’t want to stop,” I murmur. “I want my first time to be with you.”
Devon’s expression is raw and unfiltered. He kisses me like he can’t help it, deep and slow and full of something I’m afraid to name.
Then he pulls back.
My gaze drops when he unbuttons his jeans, my mouth going dry as he pushes them down with his boxer briefs.
I’ve felt him. I knew he was big. Seeing him is different.
Devon catches my expression and stills.
“We’ll go slow,” he says immediately.
I nod, though my nerves flutter back to life.
He rolls on the condom he pulls from his wallet, then returns to me, settling between my thighs. This time, there’s no teasing in his face. No cocky confidence. Only concentration and tenderness.
He kisses me. My lips, my jaw, my throat. His hand slides between us, stroking me until my body softens again, until the nerves turn warm and hazy beneath the pleasure.
“Tell me if anything hurts too much,” he says.
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
He lines himself up, and my entire body tenses.
Devon stops immediately. “Breathe, baby.”
I inhale shakily.
“That’s it. Look at me.”
I do. His forehead rests against mine as he pushes in slightly. The stretch is intense and unfamiliar. I clutch his shoulders.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, though my voice wobbles.
He kisses me. “Good. We’re not in a hurry.”
He moves another inch, then stops again. Over and over, slow and careful, until my body gradually gives way around him. There’s a sharp pinch, and I gasp, nails digging into his back.
Devon goes completely still. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”
Tears prick my eyes, but not from regret. From the intensity. From how full I feel. From how much I trust him.
After a minute, the discomfort fades into something warmer. I shift my hips experimentally.
Devon sucks in a breath. “Suri.”
“I’m okay.”
His jaw flexes. “Don’t move like that unless you want me to lose my mind.”
A shaky laugh escapes me. “Maybe I do.”
His eyes darken. “Yeah?”
I lift my hips again, braver this time.
He groans, dropping his head onto my shoulder. “Fuck.”
Then he begins to move. Slowly at first. So slowly that I can feel every inch of him, every careful retreat and gentle thrust. The fullness becomes pleasure, and the pleasure becomes something deeper and richer, spreading through me until I’m clinging to him again.
“Devon,” I breathe.
“I know.” His mouth brushes my temple. “You feel incredible.”
His control is obvious in the tension of his arms, the strain in his voice, the way his movements remain measured even as his breathing turns ragged.
I wrap my legs around his waist.
He groans. “Baby.”
“More,” I whisper.
His eyes search mine. Whatever he sees there makes the last of his restraint crack.
He kisses me hard and moves deeper, stronger, still careful but no longer holding back completely.
The bed shifts beneath us. My body rises to meet his.
Pleasure coils again, tighter this time, hotter, and I realize I’m not just being carried by it.
I’m chasing it.
My hands slide over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the muscles flex with every thrust. Devon’s mouth is everywhere—my lips, my neck, my collarbone—and his voice is rough in my ear.
“So perfect.”
“Taking me so well.”
“My beautiful girl.”
Each word drives me higher. The tension builds until I’m trembling beneath him, gasping, unable to do anything but hold on.
“I’m close,” I whimper.
Devon’s hand slips between us, his fingers finding the place still swollen and sensitive from his mouth. My back arches off the bed.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Come for me again.”
I do.
His name tears from my throat as I break apart around him, my body clenching and pulsing with pleasure so sharp that it steals my vision.
Devon curses, his rhythm faltering as he buries himself deep, shuddering above me as his release takes him.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The room is quiet except for our breathing.
Devon’s weight is heavy and warm over me, but not crushing. I like it. I like being surrounded by him, held down by him, safe beneath him.
Eventually, he lifts his head. His eyes search my face. “You okay?”
I smile, tired and overwhelmed and happier than I know what to do with. “I’m okay.”
His expression softens in a way that makes my heart ache. He kisses me once, gentle and lingering, then carefully pulls away. I wince a little, and his brows draw together.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say quickly.
He disappears into the bathroom, then comes back with a warm washcloth. My face heats when he cleans me, but his touch is so tender that I can’t stay embarrassed for long.
Afterward, he pulls back the covers and slides in beside me, gathering me carefully into his arms. I rest my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat is still fast. His thumb strokes my bare shoulder, his gaze turning serious again.
“No regrets?”
I shake my head. “None.”
Something in him eases.
“Good.” He kisses my forehead. “Because I’m not sure I could survive you regretting it. Me.”
My chest tightens, and I remember what he said about his dad, about the abuse. Maybe both of us are a little broken. Maybe we need each other more than I thought.
I vow at that moment to be there for Devon, to always show him how amazing, strong, and wonderful he is. I don’t want any of the crap his dad told him to still be in his head.
Devon holds me tighter, like he has no intention of letting go.
I squeeze him back just as tightly and drift off to sleep.