Page 54 of Trusting Mr. Sterling
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t cover herself. She lay there, open, watching him watch her. The trust in her face was the most humbling thing he’d ever seen.
He settled between her thighs and pressed his mouth to the inside of her knee. Then higher. Slow kisses along soft skin while she trembled under his hands. He took his time. He’d been dreaming about this since he was a teenager, and the reality of her—the warmth of her, the scent of her, the small desperate sounds she made when he breathed against her—was better than anything his imagination had conjured.
By the time he put his mouth on her, she was already gasping. He learned her with his tongue, finding the rhythm that made her fingers tighten in his hair, the pressure that made her back arch off the mattress. He slid two fingers inside her and curled them, and she cried out.
“There. Right there. Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He stayed with her, steady and relentless, until she came apart around him—her whole body arching, her voice breaking on his name. He felt every tremor, every wave, and he didn’t pull away until she went limp against the sheets.
He crawled up her body, and she reached for his boxers immediately.
“Off,” she said. “Now.”
He stripped them away. Her eyes dropped, and her lips parted.
“Wow.”
“Too much?”
“No.” She wrapped her fingers around him, and the contact tore a groan from his throat. She stroked him slowly, her grip warm and sure, while he fought to stay still. “It’s been a while,” she whispered. “Go slow.”
“We go at your pace. Whatever you need.”
He found a condom in the nightstand. She watched through heavy lashes as he rolled it on. When he settled between her thighs, the heat of her made his vision blur at the edges.
“Look at me,” he said.
Her eyes met his. In them, he saw everything—the girl she’d been, the woman she’d become, all the years they’d lost and the future they might still get to have.
“I don’t want you to pretend.” Her hands framed his face. “I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen.”
That was the answer. The only one he needed. He kissed her, and then there was no more talking.
He entered her slowly, watching her face. Her mouth fell open, her eyes fluttered closed, and then opened again, bright and wet.
“Stay with me,” he murmured.
“I’m here.” Her voice trembled. “I never thought I’d have this.”
They stayed there, foreheads touching, while her body adjusted to his. The intimacy of it—the stillness, the weight, the quiet—was more than sex. It was a door closing on every year they’d spent apart.
“Move,” she whispered. “Please.”
He began carefully, drawing back and easing into her again, finding a rhythm that made her breath catch on everystroke. When he shifted his angle, she gasped and gripped his shoulders.
“There. Right there.”
He gave her what she needed, steady and deep, watching her climb higher with every thrust. She tightened around him, her nails raking down his back, and then she was coming—hard, silent, her body lifting off the bed. He followed three thrusts later, pleasure crashing through him until there was nothing left but her name and the dark.
He collapsed against her and buried his face in her neck. Her arms came around him immediately, holding him there.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Their breathing slowed into the same rhythm.
“That was—” he started.
“I know.”
He shifted to his side, took care of the condom, and pulled her back against his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist like it belonged there.
