Page 18 of Sweet (Chicago Underground 7)
My eyes clenched tight. It wasn’t an impossible pain, nothing I couldn’t handle. A hundred pirouette reps hurt worse than this, and I did that every day. “Please. Just…continue.”
“Continue?” His lust-stained eyes were incredulous, almost angry. “Fuck.”
He pressed a heavy hand to my hip and started to draw away.
“Wait.” It had taken us so long to get here. If he left me now, would we ever find our way back? I wanted to please him, I wanted to trust. Instinctively, I pulled him closer.
“No, don’t move,” he ground out, rocks against concrete, filling the air with dust. And I was losing him—already lost.
A sense of sorrow drowned out the pinch of my body. “Oh, Drew,” I sighed.
Which turned out to be the wrong thing to say, because his face contorted in agony at the sound.
He jerked himself back. “Ah, shit.”
His cock sprang from me, and I gasped at the loss of pressure. His free hand flew to his cock, quick strokes, one, two, and then he froze. Groaning, he came into the latex, hunched over me, outside of me, and I turned my face away from the gorgeous, lonely sight of his rapture.
Falling onto the floor beside me, he panted for a moment, his eyes closed. I lay still, unsure of myself. I wasn’t sure where I’d gone wrong, what I had done to ruin it.
He turned to look at me. “You want to tell me what the hell just happened?”
I had never seen him so agitated, and yet I wasn’t afraid of him. Afraid of losing him, maybe, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt me even if he were furious. He seemed more frustrated, more confused even though that should have been my role.
“I’m sorry, I…I thought you wanted to keep going,” I said lamely. He’d pulled away, and I’d tried to keep him. I’d said his name. That had set him off, I realized with a surety that pleased me, even if he didn’t seem happy about it. At least I’d made him come.
He sat up, and despite my worry in that moment, I admired the curve of his long back, the bunch of his abs, and the soft crinkle of hair that drew shapes over his skin.
I sat up too, suddenly self-conscious of my splayed position, of the gaping place he no longer took. My knees slunk together, and I pressed my shirt to my breasts.
He spoke slowly, carefully. “Is it possible…are you a virgin?”
“What? No.”
“Okay.” Relief passed fleetingly across his face. “Because I thought for a minute there…”
“I mean, I haven’t had a lot of sex or anything. It’s just been a while.”
Suspicion crept into his eyes. “How long?”
“Um…I’m not sure exactly. Ten years or something.”
He swore. “You didn’t think to mention that to me before we started?”
“I figured it was like riding a bike.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been about ten years since I’ve ridden a bike, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I fell off.”
This had felt a little like falling. “Point taken.”
“Ten years ago would make you a teenager.” Speculation lilted his voice. Wheels were turning in his head, making short work of my story. A boring way to pass the time, I could have told him.
I shrugged. “I had a high school boyfriend. So sue me.”
“I already despise him. Which I would already do because you’re mine now, and it’s basically written in the code of honor somewhere. But especially because he seems like a real idiot, judging by…”
“Judging by my idiocy,” I said helpfully.
He sent me a dark look. “Men don’t continue if it’s hurting you.” He paused. Some of the clouds in his face dissipated, giving way to concern so stark it hurt to see. “You know that…right?”
