Chapter 11
Not Sorry
Olivia
Wasting no time, he lifted me, and the breath rushed out of me as my legs tightened around him.
Every step toward the bedroom lit something deep inside me, the hallway turning into a blur of shadows and the soft scrape of his breath along my neck.
My fingers tangled in his hair, trying to steady myself against the sudden rush of desire that left no space for thought.
My back met the doorframe for a heartbeat before he carried me into the bedroom. The faint glow from the lamp warmed the room, catching the tension in his face when he looked at me, and the heat in his eyes swept through me, sliding under my skin.
He lowered me onto the bed, the mattress dipping as his massive body followed. His hands traced up my thighs in a slow climb that stole the breath from my chest. Each inch he claimed sent a rush rolling through me, tightening everything at once. The air thickened with every breath we shared.
“If you want to stop…” I began, voice tight.
He pushed up onto his knees above me, his weight lifting from my hips, his brow tightening, his expression folding inward in a way that struck deeper than anything he could say. “You want me stop?”
The answer rushed out before I could think. “No.” My next breath steadied it. “Not at all.”
Some of the strain left his posture, and the shift in his eyes caught me off guard. He dipped his chin—a quiet nod—but the hesitation lingering there told me he was still bracing for another answer.
I knew he’d never been with a woman before, had never seen one like this, close enough to touch. Even so, my fingers trembled as I pulled my shirt over my head. Not from fear—because of him, because of the way he watched me, caught between wanting and not knowing how to reach for me.
His gaze moved over me in a slow sweep, and his breath hitched hard enough to hear. “Liv…”
I didn’t look away as I dropped my bra on the floor. “You can touch me.”
His hand lifted, hesitant at first, then surer when I didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed beneath my ribs, tracing along my waist in a slow, exploring sweep. The touch sent a tight rush through my skin, a shiver sliding up my spine before I could stop it.
“Beautiful.” He breathed it more than said it.
My hand rose on its own, brushing the hem of the shirt stretched across his chest. He pulled it over his head without looking away from me. The sight of him—broad chest, copper fur, scars carved across muscle—sent a deep ache through me that left my breath unsteady.
When I pressed my palm to one of the pale marks, his heart leaped hard enough that I felt it against my wrist.
“This still hurts?” The question came out softer than I meant.
He gave a slow shake of his head. “Only memory.”
Something shifted in his voice on that last word, something low and heavy. I leaned in and kissed the place just above the scar. His body shuddered under the touch, the reaction rolling through him before he pulled it back tight, holding himself in check for me.
My hand hooked behind his neck, guiding him down with me as I sank back onto the bed.
“You’re not going to break anything,” I murmured, my fingers tracing the warm line of his spine.
That pulled a soft, surprised sound from him.
He lowered himself over me, settling his weight until the press of him fit against every line of my body. His mouth found mine again, the kiss deepening until the room fell away.
A low sound escaped me when the feeling surged through my center, sharp enough to unravel whatever control I had left.
“Liv,” he breathed into the kiss, voice rough with wanting.
I let my hands wander down his sides, following the lean lines of his body until my fingers slid beneath the loose waistband of his pants. The moment my palm closed around the hard thickness of him, he pulled in a harsh breath.
I didn’t know how on God’s green Earth he was going to fit that thing inside me, but I sure as hell was gonna let him try.
With my fingers hooked onto his waistband, I eased the fabric down over his hips. He helped, awkward only because the bed was small and there was so much of him. When the pants dropped to the floor, he looked at me like the world hinged on what I did next.
He was carved in shadow and lamplight—broad shoulders, long torso, strong thighs, fur and skin, and old scars that marked a life lived far from anyone who’d ever cared for him. He searched my face as if bracing for rejection.
Instead of flinching, I reached for him. My hand wrapped around the back of his thigh, drawing him closer with a confidence I didn’t entirely feel but wanted him to believe.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered.
The words barely formed before his breath broke, and whatever fear he’d been holding in his shoulders melted away.
He kissed me again—slower, deeper. His hand skimmed down my hip, fingers brushing the edge of my underwear before pausing. His eyes lifted, searching mine.
“This okay?” he asked quietly.
I needed him—every part of him—but he was being cautious with me. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to be. “Yes.” My voice trembled. “Please.”
He tugged the fabric down my legs with a care that slowed everything around us. When his touch returned to my skin, it was gentle and exploratory, tracing my hip, my thigh—learning me—though his gaze never left my face.
When his fingers slipped between my legs and found where I ached, I gasped. My hips lifted toward him before I could stop them, and he froze instantly.
“Hurt?” he asked, pulling his hand back.
I grabbed his wrist and shook my head, trying to breathe. “No. God—no. It feels good.”
He swallowed a thick, unsteady sound. “Show me.”
So I did. Covering his much larger hand with mine, I guided him lower, adjusting his touch, letting him feel the way my body answered him.
“Here?” he murmured when he found my entrance, grazing my clit.
“Yes.” My legs opened wider, nodding more of his touch than I needed air. “Right there.”
When his big finger slid inside me, stretching me in all the best ways, my finger found its way to my clit, circling it exactly how I liked it.
Heat coiled low and fast, winding my breath into ragged pieces.
Each sound I made drew a deeper, rougher rumble from his chest, vibrating through me where his body brushed mine.
The noises he pulled from me were obscene, and I nearly screamed when he added another finger.
“Liv,” he whispered, awe tucked inside my name like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel it.
“I’m okay,” I managed, the words breaking. “Keep going. You’re doing so good.”
A quiet sound escaped him—soft, disbelieving, almost broken—but his fingers pushed deeper, giving me exactly what I needed.
I reached for his cock with my other hand, using the slick at the tip to stroke him hard.
His growl deepened, and his jaw flexed, but he didn’t stop working me with his fingers. If anything, it urged him on.
The tension inside me tightened, and my hips ground against his hand without an ounce of shyness left in me. “Oh God. Vek.” His name spilled out in a whine as I rolled against his fingers, chasing the climax that hovered just out of reach.
“I can smell…” His voice dropped into a growl I’d never heard before.
Ignoring my groan of protest, he slid his fingers from inside me, leaving me aching and empty.
He batted my hand away from my clit, then moved down my body, pushing my thighs as far apart as they would go before burying his face in my pussy.
Everything hit at once—tongue, nose, lips. He devoured me like he’d been starving for the taste, surrendering to every primal urge pulling him under. I couldn’t stop him—I didn’t want to. One hand dug into his hair for leverage while the other fisted in the blanket as I surged toward my orgasm.
“Don’t stop, Vek.” The words stumbled out, barely a shape. “Close. P-please.”
The coil inside me drew tight—tighter—until the pressure snapped. My body arched into him as the orgasm tore through me, bursting stars behind my eyes. The sound that left me didn’t feel human; it felt dragged up from somewhere deep.
Holding my thighs open, he followed me through it, kissing and sucking until I pushed weakly at his head.
When he finally pulled back, he stared at me in stunned stillness. Awe softened the hard lines of his face as he pressed gentle kisses to my thighs and stomach.
“Good?” he asked softly, adjusting his engorged cock as he moved up my body.
“So good,” I breathed, completely spent.
His hand slid up to rest over my stomach, his expression softening. “I make you feel good?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “You do.”
Color rose beneath the fur on his cheeks, and he dipped his head as if he couldn’t hold my gaze and my praise at once.
Curling my fingers into the hair at his nape, I pulled him down for a kiss, the taste of myself on his tongue making my pulse kick all over again.
“I want more,” I murmured, my pussy clenching at the thought.
He swallowed hard. “I want…” His voice caught. “Don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know.” My hand slipped between us and closed around the girth of him. The size stole a sharp breath from me. “We’ll go slow. I’ll be okay.”
A low groan vibrated through him. His hips jerked in my hand before he forced himself still—muscles shaking with restraint.
“You tell me if hurts,” he said, voice thick. “If you say stop, I stop.”
“I know,” I whispered. “And if I say more, you listen to that too.”
A shaky smile tugged at his mouth. “I listen.”
And the way he said it sent a pulse of heat through my core.
Kissing me again, Vek lowered himself between my thighs with a care that might’ve made me smile if the moment hadn’t been wound so tight.
His hands slid beneath my knees, guiding my legs around his hips.
The size difference became impossible to ignore—his body fitting against mine in a way that felt overwhelming and right all at once.
A whisper slipped out before I could stop it. “Lord… this is gonna be a lot.”