Page 62 of On the Way to You
Emery swallowed, his arms shaking again, forehead pressed to mine. I’d felt so spent, but when I bucked my hips up to meet his and he pressed against the tender center of me, want took over. My hands ran the length of his shoulders, fingertips digging into the flesh as I pulled him closer.
It was like I was a precious vase, historic in nature, beautiful and regal, and he was the handler. He was so afraid of marking me, of leaving fingerprints or worse — breaking me. But I had faith in his steady hands, in the way he watched me, and I rocked into him again, my lips finding his.
He kissed me in return, then just as he’d worked his way out of his pants, he did the same with his briefs, eyes on mine the entire time. Our lips were still connected as he felt for the condom on the table, and I tasted myself there, a sweet and tangy mix of him and me that fueled the fire in my stomach again.
The song changed on the speaker just as Emery settled between my hips, his eyes searching mine, a new acoustic melody filling the room. One hand slipped between us, positioning him at my entrance, but he paused.
God, the two creases between his brows were enough to kill me in that moment. He was looking at me like his next move would kill me, and maybe it would. But I wanted to die in his arms that night.
So, with the heel of my right foot, I pressed into his backside, and he took the cue, eyes fluttering shut along with mine as he filled me. Slowly, inch by aching inch, until we were together in every way we physically could be, in every way I’d never been with a man before.
Emery groaned as he retracted before pressing into me again, this time hitting me a little deeper, the searing pain I’d felt before back again. I opened for him, nails digging into the muscles of his back as I adjusted to the new sensations. I was full,sofull, every flex of his hips rocking me with a new rush of all-consuming pleasure. It was born where we touched, spreading through my entire body in waves all the way to my toes, to my breasts, escaping as little pants from my open lips before a new wave followed right behind it.
“Still okay?” he whispered, kissing me softly as he rocked into me again.
I cracked an eyelid open. “Mmm.”
“Are you in pain?”
He rocked in slowly again, and I squeezed my eyes tighter.
“A little, but I’m okay.”
And I was. I wasmorethan okay. I understood why he kept asking, and in a way, it made me want him more. He was so gentle, so reverent, like being the first man to touch me was the highest privilege he’d had his entire life.
Just like with his fingers, every new thrust opened me more, the pain fading slowly until it was just the sensation of being full. More than anything, I felt overwhelmed with pleasure — like there truly was justtoo muchof it. It was everywhere — on his lips when they kissed me, flowing from his hands where they touched me, in the air around us. I’d never experienced anything like it, and I never wanted it to end. It was all consuming, the indulgence that came from him being inside me. I never understood before, I nevercouldhave comprehended it until I’d experienced it for myself.
I would never be the same again.
Emery’s lips fused with mine again as he found a rhythm between my thighs, and I tried desperately to hold onto every sensation, every memory of my first time. I listened to the song playing, the roughness of the artist’s voice, the sultry notes from his guitar. I tasted Emery’s lips, his tongue, felt the weight of him on top of me, inside of me. I cataloged each and every moment, saving them for later, forever.
“You have no idea how hard it is for me to take this easy,” he groaned in my ear, another thrust hitting even deeper as I gasped from the feel of it.
His words sent another zing of pleasure jolting through me, and I kissed him harder, pulling him closer. “It’s okay, if you want to… if you need to go harder. I can take it.”
Emery kissed my collarbone with another growl, his eyes lifting to meet mine. “I have no doubt, but tonight I’m taking it slow. Tonight,” he repeated, his eyes dark. “I want to give you part of the fairytale, even if it’s just this.”
His words almost hurt, they were tinged with such sadness, such a lack of faith in himself. I wrapped my arms around his neck again, pulling him into me, my lips seeking his.
And in my heart, I knew the odds were against us — that we might be able to start a happy ever after, but our chances of finishing it were slim.
I turned the page, anyway.
The wetter I became, the easier it was for him to slide in and out, and he picked up speed. It was just enough, my moans mixing with his, our skin slick as we touched and felt and burned. Every time he rocked inside, he’d brush me where his mouth was before, on that sensitive space above my opening, and I’d cry out his name. It was such an incredible feeling, such a pleasurable sensation, and before I could stop myself, I came again, this orgasm a little duller but still enough to make me gasp his name over and over as my body shook beneath his.
“Fuck,” Emery cried as the last waves washed over me, and with another groan of his own, he came right behind me, his fingers leaving bruises on my hips as he rocked into me one last time. He held me there, his body pulsing above mine as my orgasm receded, and as soon as it passed, my legs fell to the side again and he collapsed, both of us spent.
He wrapped his arms all the way around me and rolled until I was lying on him, his breaths hot in my ear as our slick chests rose and fell together. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my forehead before pulling me flush against him. My legs ached as he softened inside me, my entire body feeling like it just survived a car wreck and a baptism at the same time.
When our breaths evened out, Emery gently rolled me until I was at his side, discarding the condom in the trashcan beside the bed before pulling me into him again. I rested my head on his chest, fingers grazing the skin where his ribs were, evoking chills with every touch.
“Is it always like that?” I finally asked, my voice a raw, sated whisper.
Finally, Emery laughed, the sound of it loud and booming against my ear on his chest.
“Never,” he answered, fingers brushing through the tangled strands of my curls.
He swallowed then, as if that answer scared him as much as it excited me, and then he repeated it. Softer. Slower.