He laughs—laughsat me. “Sweet girl, you can’tnotbe sexy.” Serious, then. “But this isn’t just having sex, Anjalee, this is making love. And what you’re afraid ofmatters.”
My eyes water. “I am afraid of it hurting. When it is your fingers inside me, only your fingers, they make me feel…tight. Your cock is very big, Kane. I am afraid it will not fit inside me.”
He’s not laughing, now, but very serious, full of that deep kindness that is simply him. “What else?”
I rest my forehead on his chest. “My parents.” I close my eyes tightly. “When I ran away, I was their little girl. Twenty-three years old, but their child. I did what I was told. Nothing else. Ever. Then I run away and I find you, and if I see them again, I will be…someone else. I am not the Anjalee Sharma who stole Pappa’s stupid car and ran away from their stupid arranged marriage. I am someone else, now.” I shake my head. “I do not know how to say it all.”
“You want to live your own life, but you’re afraid of disappointing them, still.”
I stare at him, realizing how correct he is. And I can only nod.
He rubs his thumb over my lips. “Youleft, Anj. You didn’t run away like a naughty child. You were faced with the choice to obey or to find your own way. You chose your own way. And as of the last conversation with your dad, at least, that hasn’t changed. You go back, you’ll face the same choice—their rules, their decisions for you, or your life, your way. It may mean you can’t have them in your life, honey. That’s just the truth. So, really, whether or not we make love now—or at all, for that matter—you’re still going to eventually have to decide if you can go back to their way or stick with yours, even if you don’t know exactlywhatyour way is, just that it ain’ttheirs.”
“I cannot go back. I simply cannot.”
“Then you gotta come to accept one very important thing, no matter what does or doesn’t happen with us right now.” His hands cup my face, his eyes more green than anything and so hot with emotion they almost burn through me. “They’re disappointed. They’re angry. With you,atyou. They won’t accept you living your life your way—that’s what I heard. I hope to fuck that changes, so you can have themandyour own life. But that may not happen. They may not be able to accept you—this new you. And that’s going to be true whether we have sex or not.” His fingers tighten. “This isyours, Anj. You make the decision to give me this foryou. Not me, not them, not anyone. Just you. Because it’s whatyouwant. And honey, please hear me—if you realize you’re not ready, that’s okay. It’sokay. I won’t be mad. I won’t be disappointed. I won’t stop liking you. I won’t stop wanting to kiss you, touch you, make you feel good. I can wait. And if it’s never right, if you’re never ready for it with me, that’s okay too.”
My eyes go hazy, shimmering. “You are too good, Kane.”
“No. This is just how it’s supposed to be, Anjalee. No more, no less.”
“What about my first thing?”
“Not fitting?”
I nod.
He grins. “Well, see, the female body is a miraculous thing, Anj.” He pulls me higher, touches his lips to mine, not quite in a kiss, but a brush of lips. “A human being weighing anywhere from five to ten pounds can fit through there, honey.”
I frown down at him. “That is not a sexy answer.”
“It’s the truth, though. Here’s where it gets sexy, though.” He rolls with us, so I am on my back and he is above me; his fingers trace up my thigh, sending shivers through me, and then he is touching methereand the shivers turn hot. “I’m gonna make you come. I’m gonna make you scream again and again, Anj. And the more you come, the more ready for me you’ll be. The more turned on you are, the more your sweet, sexy, tight little pussy will be ready for me. And I promise, by the time I’m in there, you’ll like it. You’ll want it. It may pinch a little at first, from what I hear, but if I do my job right, it’ll feel good for you by the time we’re done. And if it doesn’t at any point, you tell me, and we stop,instantly, no questions.”
His touch slides up my sex, down. Thenin. I gasp, and I hold his shoulders, head rolling back as fire fills me at his touch. Burns through me, soaking me with the essence of desire. I accept his touch, because I want it, because I know it, and I like it more than anything else. I open my thighs for his hand, and I let his fingers rolling over my clit make me squirm, make me gasp, whimper, and pant. And then, suddenly, his mouth is there. I did not feel him move, but he is there, tongue swirling at my center, driving the fire through me. I cross my heel over my ankle between his shoulder blades and lift myself to him, begging for the climax.
“Kane, oh…Kane—yes, please. Please!” I find my voice, and I do not care how I sound, what I say. “Please, Kane, do not stop, do not ever stop.”
He growls, and his tongue lifts against me with renewed fervor—my answer. He will not stop.
More, and more. Need pulses through me, building and building. I cannot speak, not in words, not as I reach a higher and higher peak of ecstasy. I can only whimper and gasp now, as his thick fingers enter me and move in me.
“Ohhh god, Kane.” It begins, then, all at once. “Oh god, Kane—please yes. Please more.”
He gives me more.
He gives me his tongue and his fingers, he gives me his lips sucking around me, his teeth scraping in a delightful kind of roughness.
Is it one orgasm, then? Two? Three? I do not know. I lose myself, utterly. I am screaming, bottom rising up helplessly, sex thrusting and bucking against his tirelessly greedy mouth. I come, and I come, and I come, and I scream his name until my throat hurts.
And then he rolls again. I am on top of him, sitting on him like I would a horse, hands on his chest, hair loose around my shoulders, the ends brushing the tips of my breasts. My sex pulses, my thighs helplessly clench around his hips, and I quake all over with the aftershocks of my climax.
He yanks my wrists so I fall forward, and I snake my arms under his head, pillowing the weight of him on my forearms. My breasts brush his chest, nipples so hypersensitive that the gentle scrape of them on his chest hair sends tingles through me. He slides a hand between us, touches me—lightning hits, a relatively weak bolt, but enough to make me gasp. As I gasp, as the shock ripples through me, he moves. Something thick and hot touches my seam, pressing, nudging.
I gasp, but his finger circles me and the weak bolt strengthens, strikes again, and I whimper, still shaking with the previous orgasm (or orgasms). And again, as my sounds of pleasure leave my lips, he moves, tilting his hips, and I feel myself spread open by him. Just a little.
I want it. I need to know how he will feel inside me. When I have had his fingers there, it has been beautiful, wild, thrilling, decadent. When it ishim? How beautiful will it be?
I bump my forehead against his. “Please, Kane,” I whisper.
