Page 62 of The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1)
A shudder rips through me, igniting an intense, powerful wave of sparks. Like fire shooting through my veins.
I gasp, aching for him. “Can you do that again? Knead my ass as you finger me? I think I’ll love that too.”
His teeth land on my neck, possessive and hungry, chased with a groan that sounds like it was ripped from his chest. “I love how you ask for what you want, Nadia. You’re so damn bold. It turns me on so much. Everything about you turns me on,” he rasps, pushing his cock against my ass, the hard length of him pressing against my cheeks.
“I like asking you for what I want. I love that I can,” I say, opening up to him in yet another way.
I shudder against him, then he lets go of me, spins me around, and meets my gaze. His eyes darken to midnight blue, shimmering with wild arousal. “You can ask me for anything. I want you to. I want to give it to you.”
“Thank you.” I loop my arms around his neck. “I mean it. I’ve had all these desires, all these wants. And to act on them with you . . .” My voice catches, and I’m not entirely sure how to finish. We’re talking about sex, but we’re also talking about intimacy.
True and real intimacy.
That’s what I feel with Crosby.
Dipping his face, he drops his lips to my jaw, bites me, then pulls back. “I want you to share them with me. Your desires. Your wants,” he says, his tone edging toward desperate. He sounds as lost as I feel. “Share them anytime. I’ll give them to you.”
I shake with the emotions and lust surging through me all at once, twining together like strands of a rope. “I will.”
“Good,” he says, low and smoky. “Now, let me give you what you asked for.”
He backs me into the shower wall, dragging one hand down my body to glide between my legs while the other snakes around to my ass.
Panting, I rock my hips, seeking out his touch in an act of sheer desperation. His fingers connect with me in a burst of heat. The fire in me licks higher, burns brighter.
He works me over, stroking my clit, squeezing my ass, then slamming those lips to mine.
I’m hemmed in by desire, by the sweet torment of touch everywhere. Of the way he drives mad pleasure through me, and the way I need it, crave it.
Lust claws at me.
I feel out of control, wild and animalistic.
I feel like I’m losing my mind. Losing my reason, my logic, my inhibitions.
I feel like I never want any of them back.
As he crushes his lips to mine, thrusts his fingers inside me, sweeps his thumb across my clit, and grabs my ass, I nearly die of bliss.
My climax seizes me, taking hold of my body, my mind.
It shakes me to my bones. He breaks the kiss, and I cry out, gasping his name, God’s name, every name.
I don’t even know what I’m saying.
I’m only feeling.
Feeling ecstasy vibrating from my core out through every cell.
At some point, who knows when, we separate, and I am a noodle.
A spent noodle.
I blink up at him, and he stares at me with a new intensity in his dark-blue eyes.
Yes, that was intense.
But it was intense because I trust him. Because he’s discovering me. We’re discovering how we are together.
He swallows roughly, his eyes flickering with passion. “What have you done to me?”
My throat tightens with emotion, with the need to touch him, to be touched. “What have you done to me?”
He shakes his head, maybe in disbelief, then he dips his face near my ear, brushing his cheek against mine. “Need to get close to you right now, sweetheart. Want to be inside you.”
Desire squeezes my chest. “Yes. Please. God, yes.”
He steps out of the shower, grabs a condom, and returns to me.
The water still beats down on us as he slides the condom on his cock, wraps my leg around his hip, and tells me to hold on.
Then he slides into me.
We gasp at the same time.
We stare at each other in the same way.
And when he sinks into me, we’re both feeling it—something else. Something new.
I might not know much about sex.
I might never have been in love.
But I know this much. Somehow I’ve fallen for him. Hard, fast, relentlessly.
I’m pretty sure it’s the same way for him.
That’s how he fucks me in the shower.
Like he wants me, like he needs me, and like he’s as utterly floored by what’s happened in a week as I am.
When he reaches the edge and I follow him there, coming again, coming together, I don’t want to stop.
I don’t want us to stop.
And I don’t want to pretend at all, not one bit.
Maybe he doesn’t either, since he cups my cheeks, presses his forehead to mine, and whispers, “I’m so crazy about you, Nadia.”
