I leaned forward to lick it, reveling in the salty taste. I wanted to do everything at once—give him a blow job, fuck him until he came hard…make gentle love to him so I could prove how much I treasured him. How much he meant to me. Because I had the distinct impression Arthur didn’t always feel he was worth the effort. Well, to me, he absolutely was.
Still, I slowly withdrew my hands. I coated my cock with lube as he grinned. Perhaps a little nervous, but a smile nonetheless.
I bent and kissed his soft stomach. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I know you will.” His words were quiet and sure.
I eased his good leg up over my hip, angling away from the bad one, and positioned myself over him so my cock nudged his entrance.
Again, he nodded—giving me the permission I sought.
I pressed in, reveling in the pleasure as his tight body accepted me. When my crown breached him, he blinked and then offered that shy smile I loved so much. Once inside him, I started to move, slowly, inch by self-torturing inch. I’d withdraw a bit, then push in. Pull back, thrust forward. Over and over, driving farther inside. Connecting us in a way that expanded in my chest.
“I’m good.” He said the words as I seated myself deep.
“I’ll—” I sought the right word. “—take care.”
“You can be vigorous. I’m not going to break.”
No, he wouldn’t. Because I’d never go too rough. Never do anything that might hurt him. He hadn’t shown a single sign of his head being a problem, and even though I didn’t entirely trust him to be honest, I also had to believe he trusted me enough to speak up if he needed a break—or even to stop.
I pulled out and thrust back in.
He grunted. In a good way.
Over and over, I drove deep inside Arthur, pleasuring him, pleasuring myself, our gasps and grunts melding. Increasing the force as I took him higher and higher. Chasing my own orgasm. “Can you jack yourself?” At the moment, I focused on not jostling his leg too much. Or pushing his head against the headboard. Or any of the other things I might do to hurt him, as spiraling need made it hard to focus.
He grasped his cock and jerked to the punishing rhythm I set. I chased my orgasm, even as I clung to the fact I wanted him to come first. My partners coming first didn’t always happen—but I rejoiced when it did. For Arthur, I was damned well going to make it happen.
Come on. Come on, Arthur. I watched a flush creep up his neck and his eyes darken.
“I’m coming.” He gasped the warning two strokes before his cock erupted. Slick spunk spilled over his hand and a jet hit my chest. He groaned, deep and low, and shuddered again.
“Thank fuck,” I muttered, hanging on to the edge of my own release by the skin of my teeth. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” As his channel squeezed me hard, my own orgasm overtook me. Release sent me flying right off the cliff and over the ocean. Threw me into the vastness, and the rolling thunder of the waves.
I shut my eyes, release sparking over every nerve. This was every pleasure I’d ever known, every moment when I felt as big as the universe. I suddenly wanted to go to the sea with Arthur. To sit on the sand, at night, and gaze at the moon. Count the stars. Share this incredible feeling.
I’d never seen the ocean before leaving my family’s home. Now, I walked on the boardwalk whenever I could, and the power and peace of it spoke to me. From now on, the crash of the waves and that feeling of flying free would remind me of Arthur. All this fanciful shit that had nothing and everything to do with this moment of connection. I blinked.
Our gazes locked.
That had been—bar none—the most intense climax of my life. A sign Arthur Bjornsson was coming to mean even more to me than I was willing to admit. Because even if we’d just sat on the sofa and cuddled tonight, I realized the intensity of my feelings would’ve been the same. Intimacy was what I craved.
Having a seventeen-year-old sister as a chaperone would make that difficult going forward. Still, I had to try.
But thinking of Cheyenne and the situation she was in dumped cold water on my bliss. We had to get back. I needed to protect her. She had to come first.
I realized I’d stiffened and looked away, when Arthur said, “Cheyenne.”
That he brought up her name meant he understood my dilemma. My problem. My worry.
“Yeah.” Slowly, I withdrew. “You okay?”
“I’m beyond okay.” He crunched up to grab the back of my head and kissed me. “And Brooklyn?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll take it slow, and we’ll take care of Cheyenne. But I don’t want this to be the last time you drill me through the mattress.”
