Page 44 of Held-
“More,” I demand. “I need more.”
His fingers slide inside me, and I gasp at the sudden intrusion, my back arching off the bed. His thumb continues its relentless circles as he works his fingers deeper, curling them in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Fuck, princess,” he groans, his free hand gripping my thigh. “Your hungry cunt has a vice grip on my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock.”
I’m rambling now, half-formed words slipping out as the moment sweeps me under, everything in me tightening with a rising, breathless urgency I haven’t felt in years. It’s been so long since anyone has touched my heart, my needs, my longing with this kind of care—if anyone ever has. His focus is absolute, his attention so complete it feels as though nothing exists beyond the way he’s trying to understand me, to read me, to give me space to feel everything I’ve been denying myself.
“Please,” I beg.
“Not yet,” he argues. “Not until I know you can take me, baby. You’re too fucking tight, and I am not about to hurt you.”
His thumb presses harder against my clit as his fingers work inside me, stretching and preparing me. My hips rise to meet his hand, desperate for more.
“I need to see you come,” he growls, increasing his pace. “Need to feel you fall apart on my fingers before I take you properly.”
The pressure builds with each thrust of his fingers, each circle of his thumb. I'm close—so close—teetering on the edge.
“That's it,” he urges. “Let go for me, princess.”
And I do. The release hits me hard, a rush that swallows my breath and scatters every coherent thought. His name tears out of me before I can stop it, my body reacting with a force that shakes me to my core. He stays with me through it, guiding me through every lingering tremor until I’m loose, breathless, and melted into the sheets.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, he’s watching me with an intensity that sends my pulse skittering. Slowly—deliberately—he lifts his hand, the same one that undid me moments ago, and draws his fingers to his mouth. His eyes staylocked on mine as he does it, and the look he gives me… God. It sends heat curling low in my belly all over again, even though I’m still recovering from the last of those shattering tremors.
“I need you, Brayden.” I reach for his belt, but he captures my hands, pressing them into the mattress.
“Patience, princess. We've got all night.”
“I don't want patience,” I argue, tugging my hands free to reach for him again. “I've been patient my whole life. I want you inside me.”
“Then who am I to deny you?” He growls in agreement and pushes himself off me, moving to the bedside table. I watch him, admiring the play of muscles across his back as he yanks open the drawer. His movements suddenly still, and I hear him mutter something under his breath.
“What's wrong?” I prop myself up on my elbows.
“These condoms...” He holds up a small foil packet, examining it in the dim light. “Fuck. They expired when I was in high school.” He tosses it back in the drawer with disgust.
My heart skips a beat, but not from disappointment. The responsible part of me should be concerned, but something reckless has taken hold tonight.
“It's fine,” I tell him, sitting up fully. “I'm on birth control. Have been for years.” It was one of the few rebellions I'd managed against my father's expectations—a private decision he never knew about. “And I'm clean. Got tested after...after I found out about Ethan. Are you…”
“Clean,” he freely admits. “Not that the idea of fucking you bare doesn’t excite the shit out of me, but I’m going to ask again. You’re good without a condom?”
“Yes,” I answer as I slide forward on the bed. “More than okay.”
I reach for his fly, my fingers working the button of his jeans. I'm done with hesitation, done with waiting. The metal givesway under my touch, and I drag the zipper down slowly, feeling his body tense as my knuckles brush against him through the denim.
“Jesus, Cece,” he hisses, his hands fisting in the sheets beside my hips.
I look up at him through my lashes, enjoying the way his jaw clenches as I hook my fingers into his waistband. “You talk too much,” I tell him, tugging his jeans down his hips. “Less talking, more action.”
His laugh turns into a groan as my hand finds him through his boxers, stroking the hard length of him. He's...substantial. I now understand why he was stalling earlier. There is absolutely no way on this Earth that he will fit. Even with his very extensive prep work, I’m starting to have doubts that this monster will not rip me in half.
Brayden notices. He steps in closer, crowding me until my back presses into the mattress again. One hand slides up my thigh, slow and sure, as if he’s reminding me this was my idea and he’s going to make damn sure I understand what I asked for.
“You look like you’re about to say a prayer,” he mutters. “Go on. Let’s hear it.”
I blink up at him, heart pounding. “What?”
He leans in, his lips brushing mine, just barely. “You want to get on your knees for something holy, don’t you?” His hand curls around himself, and he strokes once, slow and dirty. “Then start praying, sweetheart. But not to your daddy’s god. Pray to the man who is about to fuck you senseless.”