The world narrowed to Jonas. His taste, his touch, his mouth on mine. This wasn’t a tentative kiss anymore. It was a demand, and I gave in without a second thought.
Every stroke of his tongue, every low sound he made, sent heat curling deep in my belly. My hands slid up his chest, the thick cotton of his sweatshirt doing nothing to hide the solid muscle beneath. He felt like strength barely leashed, power coiled and waiting. The thought made me ache.
We sank to the ground, the frozen earth biting cold against the fire running through me. The canvas walls and the bulk of the table created our own secret world, where nothing existed but this.
Our kisses turned frantic, desperate, his hands roaming my back, cupping my breast, his thumb brushing over a nipple already tight beneath my sweater. I shoved at his sweatshirt, desperate for skin, but he caught my hands.
Instead of stopping, he lifted them to his lips, pressing soft kisses across my knuckles before guiding them lower. As I worked the fastening of his jeans, he pulled me all the way downuntil we were side by side on the ground, well hidden from the world outside.
His fingers found the button of my jeans, then the zipper. The sound was obscenely loud in our hidden space. I gasped into his mouth as his hand slid inside, past the lace of my panties, his calloused palm a rough, perfect contrast to the unbelievable softness of his touch as he found me.
He stilled for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath shuddering. “So beautiful,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “So ready for me.”
Then he began to move his fingers—a slow, circling pressure that stole the air from my lungs. I clutched at his shoulders, my head falling back as he stroked me, his gaze locked on my face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed it.
“That’s it, Paige,” he murmured, his voice a low, sexy rumble against my neck. “Let me see you. Let me feel you come for me.”
His words were a catalyst. The coil inside me tightened, an unbearably sweet tension, and then it shattered. A silent, seismic wave broke over me, my body bowing against his as the pleasure ripped through me. My cry was swallowed whole by another deep, claiming kiss.
When I floated back to myself, my limbs boneless and trembling, a new, fierce urgency took hold. I needed to shatter him, to make him feel this devastating, glorious loss of control.
I unzipped his jeans and shoved everything down, my fingers clumsy with need. He sucked in a sharp, hissing breath as his cock sprang free and I wrapped my hand around his length.
He was velvet over steel, hot and heavy and thrilling in my palm. I stroked him, learning his rhythm, fueled by the guttural, broken moans I was pulling from his throat.
“God, Paige…the way you touch me…” he groaned, his hips rocking into my hand.
Suddenly, his hand closed over mine, stilling me. “Paige, we have to stop. We need to go back. Unless you’re…unless you’re ready to do this here and now. Because I won’t be able to hold out much longer.”
The world outside—the distant thrum of the festival, the murmur of voices, the biting cold—was a distant, fading dream. The only thing that was real, the only thing that mattered, was him.
“I’m ready,” I breathed, the words leaving no room for doubt.
He searched my face, his eyes dark and devastatingly serious. “Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”
“Yes, Jonas. I want you. I want this. All of you.”
A groan was torn from him, a raw sound of pure, unfiltered need. He shifted, tugging his pants down even farther. I kicked my own jeans and panties aside, the cold air a brief, shocking kiss against my skin before the devastating heat of his body covered mine. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles, anchoring him to me.
He poised himself at my entrance, his eyes holding mine, the connection feeling deeper, more intimate than anything before. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, a sheen of sweat already on his brow. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
He nudged forward, and there was a sharp, stretching pain, a bright flash of sensation. I flinched, and he froze instantly, every muscle in his body seizing, his expression a mirror of my own pained pleasure.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, brushing the damp hair from his forehead, my touch a reassurance for us both. “Don’t stop.”
He began to push forward again, with infinite, excruciating slowness—stretching me, filling me, completing me in a way I’d never known was possible. Then he stopped, a new, different tension seizing his body. “God, Paige… I don’t have anything. I don’t have protection.”
The words were agony, a confession of a mistake that could shatter the moment.
“It’s okay,” I said again, drawing him down for a soft, reassuring kiss, pouring every ounce of my certainty into it. “I’m on birth control.”
The relief in his eyes was momentary, instantly replaced by a fresh wave of concern as he saw the faint tightness still around my eyes, the lingering echo of discomfort. His voice dropped to a husky, intimate whisper, a secret just for me.
“Touch yourself,” he murmured, his lips brushing my cheek. “Right where you’re most sensitive. It’ll help. It’ll feel good. Trust me.”
I was skeptical. It felt too intimate, too vulnerable, to pleasure myself with him watching, with him buried so deeply inside me. But I did trust him.
Hesitantly, my fingers trembling, I slipped my hand between our joined bodies and found the aching, swollen nub he’d brought to life earlier. I circled it, and a jolt of pleasure shot through me, instantly dulling the lingering sting of his invasion. My eyes widened in surprise, a soft gasp escaping my lips.
