Page 91 of Kane

“Can you take more, baby?” he growls, teeth gritted.

I nod. “Need more. Need you.”

I bring my knees further under me and tilt my bottom up so I can create space between us for his hand, for his touch. He takes what I offer, wedging his hand there and driving the touch of two fingers against me, just the pads oh so lightly drifting over my clitoris. Lightning, fire, the brushing whisper of a hot wind—this is his touch. And he growls, the sound one of tensely wrought impatience, of need denied. Or rather, need much too slowly met. He wants to be inside me, desperately—I can feel it, hear it, or simply sense it in him. Yet he only gives himself to me very very gradually. Not even an inch at a time—less. And each time, he touches me. Makes my sex throb, pulse and pound. Wetness floods me at his touch, at the way his thick hard cock feels splitting my sex, going into me. I work to accept him, focusing on the physical wonder of knowing it is Kane entering me, filling me with his body. Uniting with me.

“Please…more,” I whisper.

“Does it hurt?” he murmurs.

I shake my head. “No. It is perfect.”

He cups my chin and pushes me up so he can meet my eyes—to know if I am lying or not. I let him see into me, to my very soul through my eyes.

Because I am not lying…itisperfect.

He gives more to me. Another soft touch, now his finger gently, softly, swiftly circling in the way which never fails to make me rise to climax. And I do, easily, quickly. And as I orgasm yet again, crying through teeth clenched with the wrenching wonder of his touch, he fills me further. Another tilt of his hips, and now…

It does hurt, a little.

A pinch.

He sees. “Need me to stop?”

I shake my head. “No, please no.” I can barely manage the words.

He keeps me riding the cusp of climax, and I think for a moment that I cannot take any more—not of him, but of the orgasming. It is too much, too intense. But, I cannot stop.

And the pinch, the stretch, the aching burn of accepting him—even this I like.

He groans, head and shoulders craning up, burying his face in my neck, beard rough yet soft at once on my skin—I am shocked when he bites me. A nip, a sharp, quick bite of his teeth into my skin at my neck, where it meets my shoulder—and he does not let go, his growl deepening. And then he is deeper into me, and the pinch is gone, leaving only the beautiful aching burn of him inside me.

I clutch his head to me, press his face between my breasts as I arch my back, taking more of him. It’s beautiful, now, perfect. I moan, my fingers knotted in his hair. He stills, and I feel him, tensed to stony immobility. He is shaking. Panting, breath rough and ragged.

I tug his hair to pull his face back, so I can see his eyes. He is ravaged by need, and desperately holding himself back.

“Kane…” I whisper. “It is okay, now.”

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, brow furrowed, speaking through clenched teeth. “Don’t wanna hurt you, Anj.”

I must show him.

And I know how.

I find the courage in kissing him—I grip his hair and his neck, and I slam my mouth on his and I suck his tongue into my mouth. He grunts in surprise, and then the grunt softens into a rough moan, and he melts into my kiss. Gives back. Tongue thrusting into my mouth and sliding against mine, the kiss is wet and wild, hot and hungry.

Kissing Kane solves everything, I think.

He lifts up to deepen the kiss, but I push him down, hands on his shoulders—he acquiesces, letting me pin him, not with my negligible weight or puny strength, but with the fierceness of my intensity, the heat of my need. I bend over him, giving him all of my weight.

Kiss him more wildly and more deeply than we have ever kissed.

I push myself down onto him. My mouth shudders open as he sinks fully into me, rooted as deep as he can go, my bottom resting on his hips, my pussy throbbing around his cock.

Such beautiful, dirty words.

His cock is inside me, and Iloveit. I am crazed with it, suddenly, my heart pounding out of my chest now, not with fear but with the epiphany of how beautiful and right and wonderful and perfect it is, to be here in this field of wildflowers giving this brave, strong, kind man the most precious thing I have—my virginity.

I was not saving it, not willfully, not by choice, not on purpose. But as I give it to him, I do understand the gift it is. No one will ever have this. Only Kane. No matter what my future holds, this moment belongs to him.