Page 85 of The Gift
His restraint disappeared. He rolled her onto her back, one arm bracing beside her head, his other hand sliding beneath the hem of his T-shirt, fingers tracing slowly up her bare thighs.
This wasn’t adrenaline after an emotionally charged night. This was deliberate, and she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more in that moment.
He traced the line of her jaw with his lips, down her throat, lingering where her pulse fluttered.
“Arms up,” he directed, voice husky with his rising desire.
When he pulled the shirt over her head, her nipples tightened from the coolness of the room. Braced on his arms above her, only his eyes touched her, taking his time.
“Are you only going to look?”
“For now,” he said. No apology. “You wanted slow, and I was trying to oblige us both.”
Her soft laughter dissolved into a gasp when his mouth closed over a nipple, tongue circling, drawing it tight. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there.
He stayed, but not for long, moving to give the other side equal attention. She arched, craving more than his mouth. By the time his hand slid down her body, she was already lifting for him.
His fingers hooked into her panties. With a tug and a whisper of fabric, they joined the discarded shirt somewhere in the room.
With her now completely bare, he perused her body with an intensity that stole her breath. His hand traced a path down her stomach, between her thighs, parting her. His thumb found her clit. She lifted instinctively, her head falling back, composure gone.
“Just like that,” she breathed into the charged air.
He listened, moving with little flicks and circles. A finger curled inside her then a second, finding the place that made her thighs clamp tight around his hand. She rode the motion, her breath coming faster, the tension coiling.
“Look at me.”
She did, and the intimacy of eye contact, the deliberateness, the way he watched her face like her pleasure was information he wanted to memorize, undid her more than his touch.
Erica gave in to it and came, a low moan slipping free before she could stop it.
He stayed with her through it, not rushing or pulling away but holding her there until she came back to him.
“Perfect,” he murmured, as if she’d confirmed something.
“Now it’s your turn.” She wanted to give him the same pleasure.
There was no need to ask him twice. He rolled off her and stripped, giving her a moment to peruse, too.
She dragged a palm over his shoulder, across the expanse of his chest, and down the rippling muscles in his belly. Then shesaw all of him, long and thick, and had to touch him there. She took him in her hand, stroking slowly.
He lost it for a second. “Erica…”
Her name, low and strained, in his deep voice, was one of her favorite sounds.
A passive role wasn’t his style, and it was over. He drew her toward him, wrapped her leg over his hip, and aligned himself with her. He slid inside, watching her face. The stretch pulled a sharp exhale from her as she adjusted to the weight and fullness of him settling deep. She took all of him, the sensation daunting and perfect all at once.
His hand splayed over her bottom, and, at the same time, his lips found hers again. She moved with him as he set up a rhythm, sinking deep and withdrawing in a long pull.
It was wonderfully intimate, but he soon wanted more.
He rolled both of them this time, with her on her back and him rising above her. His hands slid up her body, lifting her arms, lacing their fingers together above her head and pressing them gently into the pillow.
The slow drag of his withdrawal pulled a breath from her, and when he filled her again, her fingers tightened in his. Her eyes stayed on his because there was nothing else, only this moment.
“Please,” she whispered.
His mouth found hers, driving deeper and stronger, until she couldn’t take any more. She arched beneath him, neck craning, fingers crushing his, then shattered. Her body clenching around him in waves she couldn’t stop and didn’t try to. Her voice lost somewhere between breath and sound.
