His head flopped forward, his lips capturing mine again in a soul-searing kiss. His five o’clock shadow razored across my sensitive skin, but I loved the burning, loved the assault.
My back arched as one long finger entered me.
“Yes—God…”
His tongue slipped between my open lips, forcing me to kiss him back. I struggled to pay attention to the exhilarating taste of him and the eye-popping sensation of his finger rubbing my inner walls.
The tingly precipice he’d shown me that first day returned; I latched onto it hungrily.
I wiggled closer, needing more…needing something bigger, broader…I needed his cock.
He grunted as he forced a second finger inside me. The garbled noise might’ve had words strung together, but they poured unheard down my throat.
“Don’t stop.” I arched my hips, welcoming, imploring him to thrust harder.
I didn’t care I wasn’t on birth control. I didn’t care about anything but driving us out of his nightmarish world and into a new dimension.
“I can’t—you don’t—” Jethro groaned between kisses.
“Yes, you can. You can’t stop. Not now.”
His fingers froze.
I refused to let him overthink this. It was my turn to bite his lip. Hard.
He bellowed…then…he went rogue. The final barrier he’d always stayed behind shattered, and he poured his broken soul into my being.
His fingers hooked inside me, making me unbelievably wetter. His lips nibbled and ravaged, leaving me hollow of thoughts and humanity.
His free hand shot to my chest, twisting my nipple beneath the fabric of my dress while his fingers plunged harder, faster inside me.
The invasion blew my mind.
It was too much. It’s not enough.
I arched in his hold, spreading my legs wider. All thoughts were gone. All worries were dead.
I didn’t care how I looked or what would become of me afterward.
I just wanted him.
“Take me. Please.”
He stopped kissing me. His lips swollen, red. His eyes frantic with passion and affliction. His jaw tightened, and for a horrible second, I thought he’d refuse. He knew my sexual history; there was no reason to fear taking me bare. I didn’t know his, but he was impeccable in all facets of his life. Somehow, I couldn't see him sleeping around. I couldn’t see him putting himself in such a vulnerable position.
His lips crashed against mine again, his tongue tearing past my lips. I grabbed the back of his neck, forcing our mouths harder together.
His fingers disappeared from inside me, smearing my wetness onto my thigh as he pushed me ever wider. I let my legs spread shamelessly. I was beyond decency or concern. My body was flushed, acutely sensitive, and entirely feverish.
In a seamless male move, Jethro clamped my hip and pulled himself higher. The relief at finally feeling the broad head of his cock against my entrance sent me spiralling into madness.
“Shit, you feel…” His voice was a decadent purr. “You feel like…”
“Like freedom,” I breathed, taut and trembling, just waiting for him to enter me.
His eyes flared wide, dazzling me with bronze need. “Yes, exactly.”
The moment stretched for far too long, somehow turning this from fucking to something unbearably precious.
With our gazes still locked, he pushed inside me.
A breathless cry escaped me as discomfort blazed. I squirmed beneath him, trying to find relief from the pinching, consuming pressure of him filling me.
I’d been terrified once of taking him. Horrified at his huge size, so sure he would never fit, but inch-by-inch he stretched me, changing my whole perception.
My core rippled around him, welcoming and rebelling against his invasion.
He was perfect.
Utterly perfect.
Our foreheads crashed together as he sank deeper and deeper. Only once he was completely sheathed did he close his eyes and kiss me again. Pleasure seeped from the one place where we were joined—the only place we were naked.
It was carnal, lewd, and fit my salacious need better than any position.
I reached up to kiss him back, diving my fingers into his sweat-misted hair. His body radiated heat, trembling above me as I sucked his tongue into my mouth.
He didn’t stop me. He didn’t try to control me. He gave that part of himself, so gently and sweetly, my heart cracked with unknown joy.
I rocked my hips, grinding myself on his thick cock, seeking the solace from the overbearing need to explode. My mind scrambled with the primitive instinct to fuck, to claim, to drive each other until we burst and this intolerable hunger would be sated.
The rawness of being laid bare, of being full to the brink and taken so thoroughly, pushed me to the edge of an orgasm.
My knuckles turned white as I anchored myself on his waist. My mind swirled with vertigo as the first scrumptious rock annihilated my world.
There was no shame or shyness.
This was beyond that.
This was the first true thing that’d happened to me in my entire life.
My gaze locked with his, unable to look away.
In that moment, he owned me. I’d do anything he wanted. And he knew it.
He rocked again, sending spindles of fireworks in my blood. The smell of our desire laced the room, a seductive mix of wrongness and right.
My nipples pebbled as he drove into me again; my breasts throbbed, heavier than they’d ever been.
This was what I’d wanted, what I’d fought for. Every time we’d duelled, I’d wanted to possess him, to climb on top of him, and impale myself on his aristocratic cock.
“Fuck,” Jethro groaned, driving hard, rocking his hips to an uneven rhythm.
His back was granite beneath his t-shirt, his skin a rippling volcano of heat.
I gasped, flexing around him as he thrust once, twice.
“More. Please, more.”
Somehow this had turned from war to intimacy. We’d both stepped over the line, and I had no clue how to go back.
His gaze was turbulent as he drove again. I knew he struggled with what I did—sensed he was just as ruined and destroyed as me. We’d been fighting against each other, but ultimately, we’d won and lost.
Eye-to-eye, skin-to-skin, there was no room for bullshit or lies.
And it was perfectly petrifying.
I opened wider, taking more of him.
He sucked in a loud breath, stretching me exquisitely.
There was no way any other man could ever compete with the elegant chilliness of Jethro. He was exactly like the iceberg he favoured, only in different lights, more truth shone. Some bright and light and blinding, others black and deep and terrifying.