Page 25 of Judge’s Obsession

He waits there, the blunt heat of him nudging my entrance, and just breathes. His eyes never leave mine. One hand slides under my thigh and eases it wider, thumb stroking the soft skin of my inner leg like he’s asking permission all over again.

“Slow,” he says. I don’t know if he’s telling me or himself.

Then he rocks forward. Just an inch.

I gasp. It’s a stretch I have no name for—a pressure that’s not quite pain and not quite anything else. My fingers find his shoulders and dig in.

He holds there. Lets me feel it. Lets my body catch up.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Just that much. Breathe for me.”

I do. He watches my chest rise and fall, and only when it steadies does he give me another inch. Then another. He’s easing into me by degrees, so slowly I can feel every ridge of him, and it’s the most agonizing, tender thing anyone has ever done to me. The burn spreads. My body flutters around him, trying to decide whether to fight him or take him.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect.”

By the time his hips finally meet mine, he’s shaking.

Not a tremor. Shaking. He’s braced over me, forearms caging my head. Sweat beads at his temple and catches the dim light. Every muscle in his body is locked against the urge to move.

The most dangerous man in Salvation, and he’s trembling because he doesn’t want to hurt me.

“Easy, baby.” His voice is gravel dragged over concrete. “I’m going to make you feel good.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes it worse. Without sight, there’s nothing but the feel of him. The fullness. The impossible fact of him seated so deep inside me I don’t know where I end. I clutch him tighter, and somewhere above me, he lets out a breath that shudders on the way out.

“Look at me.”

I force my eyes open.

“Too much?”

“A little,” I admit.

“Then we wait.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t rock his hips, doesn’t murmur about how good it’ll feel if I just relax, doesn’t do any of the things I’d braced myself for.

He drops his forehead to mine. His skin is damp.

He kisses the corner of my mouth. Light. Barely there.

“Take your time, beautiful. I’m not going anywhere.”

I draw a shaky breath.

Then another.

The burn doesn’t disappear, but it changes. Dulls at the edges. My body stops bracing and starts feeling—the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the heat pouring off his chest, the steady thud of his heart against my breastbone. It’s fast. Faster than mine. The hand not holding his weight finds my hip and just rests there, thumb tracing slow circles into my skin like he’s trying to gentle a wild thing.

Maybe he is.

“Better?” he asks.

I nod. “Better.”

He brushes a damp strand of hair from my face. “You tell me what you need.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. Pull him down until there’s nothing between us but sweat and breath.