Chapter 8 #3
“I know it already happened years ago, but this is how I always imagined our first kiss,” he whispers. “With you looking at me just like that. Wanting me. Needing me.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “I’ve dreamed about this, Mina. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this.”
I don’t have words. I just pull him back to me, kissing him harder, deeper, pouring four years of confusion and longing into the press of my lips against his.
He groans in the back of his throat, and his hand slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head.
This is happening. This is really happening.
And then, like a bucket of cold water, a thought cuts through the haze. I pull back with a cry. “Wait.”
He freezes immediately, his whole body going tense. “What’s wrong?”
“What about Valerie?”
His lips twitch. “Valerie?”
And I know he means Valerie’s not important.
He cups my face in his hands, his eyes locked on mine. “There’s no one else, Mina. There’s never been anyone else. Just you. Only you.”
The words wrap around my heart and squeeze.
I smile. I can’t help it. And then I’m pulling him down onto the bed beside me, and he goes willingly, carefully arranging himself so he doesn’t jostle my ankle, his body warm and solid against my side.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” I whisper back.
And then we’re kissing again, slower this time, deeper, and nothing else matters.
Nothing else exists.
Just us.
We’re still kissing when his hands find the hem of my shirt. His fingers slip beneath the fabric, brushing the bare skin of my stomach, and I gasp against his mouth. He swallows the sound, kissing me deeper, his touch trailing fire everywhere it goes.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs against my lips.
It’s more than okay. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted. “Please, Cristiano.”
He pulls back just enough to lift my shirt over my head, and I raise my arms to help him, my heart pounding. The air is cool against my skin, and I’m suddenly aware of how exposed I am in just my bra, faded and plain, with nothing sexy about it.
But Cristiano is looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“God, Mina.” His voice is rough. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve imagined this?”
Before I can answer, his mouth is on my collarbone, trailing kisses down to the swell of my breasts. I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, and a sound escapes me that I’ve never made before.
I glance toward the door, suddenly self-conscious and notice with surprise that it’s closed.
When did he close the door? I don’t remember him closing it.
He must have done it while I was unwrapping the snow globe, and I was distracted by the gift and the tears and the overwhelming emotion of it all.
Why did he close the door when we were just talking?
But then his mouth closes over my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, and the thought dissolves into nothing.
I moan in his arms and arch against him.
“I’ve got you.” He reaches behind me, fumbling with the clasp of my bra. “I’ve got you, Mina.”
The bra falls away, and his hands are on me, cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples until I’m gasping, writhing, unable to think about anything except his touch.
“So beautiful.” He’s breathing hard, his eyes dark with want. “So fucking beautiful. I lie awake at night thinking about this. About you. About what you look like, what you sound like, what you taste like.”
His mouth replaces his hands, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
“That sound.” He groans against my skin. “God, that sound. I want to hear you make that sound forever.”
Everything is moving so fast. His hands are at my waistband, tugging at the button of my skirt.
“Can I?” he asks, and his voice is thick and desperate. “Please, Mina. I need to see you. All of you.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, please.”
He peels my skirt down my legs, so careful of my ankle, lifting it gently as he slides the fabric free. Then I’m in nothing but my underwear, and he’s staring at me like I’m a miracle.
I reach for his shirt. He helps me pull it over his head, and then he’s bare-chested above me, all lean muscle and golden skin.
He lowers himself over me, and our bare chests press together for the first time. The sensation is overwhelming, skin against skin, his heart pounding against mine.
We’re kissing again, deeper now, hungrier. His hand slides down my stomach and slips into my underwear, and I gasp as his fingers find me.
“So wet.” His voice is guttural, and almost pained. “Fuck, Mina, you’re so wet. Is this for me? All of this?”
I hold on to his shoulders as pleasure and embarrassment war inside me.
I’m soaked for him, but one look at his face tells me he’s in awe of my slipperiness all over his fingers.
He strokes me, slow and exploratory, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes me clutch his shoulders and beg for more.
Neither of us know what we’re doing, but he’s paying attention and drinking in every sound I make.
“I’ve thought about this so many times.” His breath is hot against my ear. “Touching you like this. Making you feel good. Making you mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to my core.
“Cristiano,” I gasp.
He pulls back to look at me, his eyes burning. “Tell me what you want, Mina. I’ll give you anything. Everything.”
“I want—” I can barely form words. “I want to touch you.”
His breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He guides my hand to the front of his jeans, and I feel him through the denim—hard, straining against the fabric. He groans when I press my palm against him, his chest heaving.
“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Mina, I love you touching me.”
“Take them off,” I whisper. “I want to see you.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
He strips off his jeans and boxer briefs in one motion, and then he’s naked above me, and I can’t look away. He’s beautiful. All of him. The lean lines of his body, the muscles of his stomach, the hard length of him jutting toward me.
I wrap my hand around his cock, and he hisses, his whole body going taut. “Mina.”
“Is this okay?”
“It’s—fuck—it’s more than okay.” The muscles of his stomach clench and release.
I stroke him, slow and curious, learning the feel of him. The velvet skin. The heat. The way he pulses in my hand.
“You’re so hard,” I whisper, marveling at his thickness in my hands.
“For you. Only ever for you. God, Mina, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long. You have no idea—”
And then suddenly I’m on my back and he’s above me, braced on his forearms, his hips settling between my thighs. One second, I was touching him, the next, he’s positioned at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me.
“Is this okay?” he asks, and his voice is strained, like it’s taking everything he has to hold back. “Mina, I need you to tell me this is okay.”
My heart is pounding. I had no idea I’d be losing my virginity today, but now we’re here, and my core is aching for him. And there’s no one else I’d rather give it to.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I want this. I want you.”
“Thank God,” he groans. He pushes forward, and I feel the stretch of him, the pressure, his thick intrusion.
Pain.
I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders, and he freezes immediately.
“I’m so sorry, Mina.” His face is anguished. “I’m so sorry I have to hurt you. Fuck.”
I force myself to breathe through it. “I’m okay. Just—go slow.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He sinks into me inch by inch, pausing every time I tense, murmuring apologies and endearments against my skin. It hurts, there’s no pretending it doesn’t, but he’s so careful, so devastated by the idea of causing me pain.
“I’ve got you,” he keeps saying. “I’ve got you, Mina. It’ll feel good soon, I promise. I’ll make it feel so good for you.”
Finally, he’s fully sheathed inside me. He holds perfectly still, his arms shaking with the effort of restraint, his forehead pressed against mine.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” The burn is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Can I move?”
“Yes.”
He pulls back slowly, then pushes forward again, and this time there’s less pain. Less resistance. Just the slide of him inside me, the friction, the building pressure.
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Good?” His voice is desperate, hopeful. “I’ve never done this before either.”
“Good,” I confirm. “Really good.”
He groans and starts to move in earnest, finding a rhythm that makes my toes curl. The pain is gone now, replaced by pleasure, waves of it, building with every thrust.
“So tight.” He’s panting, his eyes wild. “So fucking tight and wet and perfect. You were made for me, Mina. Made for me.”
I’m losing myself in this. In him.
“You’re glistening all over my cock, Mina. You want me so much, and I can see it. There’s a little smear of blood as well.”
The sight of him above me, his face twisted with pleasure, his muscles flexing with every movement. He blocks out the entire world.
“Look at the way your pussy stretches around me. You take my cock so beautifully. You’re so perfect I could die.”
There’s nothing but Cristiano, his body, his voice, his cock driving into me over and over and pushing me to higher and higher levels of pleasure.
“Scratch me,” he demands suddenly. “Please, Mina. I want to feel your nails. I want you to mark me.”
I drag my nails down his chest, leaving red lines in their wake, and he moans like I’ve given him a gift.
He hisses in pleasure. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Harder. Mark me up.”
I rake my nails down his back, and he shudders, his hips stuttering.
“I’m close,” he gasps. “Mina, I’m so close. Are you— Can you—”
“Yes,” I pant, because I am, I’m right there, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my core. “Yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
He reaches between us, his thumb finding the spot that makes me see stars. He rubs my tender clit in aching circles. Suddenly all the pieces of my pleasure come together, and I shatter.