Page 38 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)
“I’m okay,” I say on a panted breath as I rotate my hips, seeking more friction. “Stop being so careful.”
His chest rumbles with laughter and he presses me onto my back, drives deeper into me.
The fullness is euphoric, the intensity everything I didn’t know I needed.
I’ve never felt as whole as this. Moonlit beams filter through the window, leave parts of Grant illuminated, parts of him shaded.
He brushes this thumb across my nipple, strumming until it’s painfully pebbled, and shivers run across my skin as I constrict around him.
“It’s your first time,” he says, dragging out of me before gliding back in.
I try my best to steady my breath but instead gasp at the intoxicating friction.
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him, his lips falling on mine.
And everything’s wet and sleek and hot—this kiss, his tongue, his lips on mine, the slip of my skin against his, the pleasure pooling between us.
He thrusts harder, his free hand palming my breast, his mouth ruining mine and the force of it has me quivering.
“Fuck,” he says against my neck, and kissing the sensitive skin there.
“You’re taking me so well. Look at you.” He lifts back and gingerly caresses me, looks at me like he’s seeing a seventh wonder of the world.
But he is looking at me, telling me how perfectly we fit, how I was made for him, and I feel the pressure build, the tantalizing itch of my climax just barely out of reach, and it’s too much.
I shut my eyes against the feeling, and it softens, still there, but less.
“Eyes on me, Genevieve.” The command, the way he says my name, his tortured breaths—they have me opening them.
And I feel something tighten in my core all over again, the intensity of our locked gazes like gasoline.
His heated stare touches me right where I need it most, and I feel myself climbing higher and higher, each thrust pushing me closer and closer.
“That it’s,” he tells me, his affirmation making me whimper, my breaths coming out short as I start to shatter around him.
Every sensation I’ve experienced with him collapses into me, pleasure rippling through me with such ferocity as I dig my nails into his back.
He kisses me with such reverence, I wonder if I’m going to cry.
When his hands grip my hips, lifting them slightly, it’s like he’s wringing the last of my orgasm from this new angle.
And I watch as his climax overcomes him, the muscle of his chest rippling as the waves of pleasure roll through him.
His head falls to mine as it subsides, and he pulls out, and we lay there.
He wraps me in his arms, settling me against his chest, his breath warm against my shoulder as he presses the sweetest kisses to my skin.
“I’m sweaty,” I laugh, wondering what the typical post-sex protocol is, any of the self-consciousness I felt earlier nowhere to be found. Instead, I feel adored. It’s not something I think I’ve ever felt before.
“Big fan of you sweaty,” he says, sucking the skin at the crook of my neck. “Like when you came over that day, after rehearsal.”
“So you were checking out my ass.” I spin around in his hold, turn over to face him. We’re inches apart, lying there naked in his childhood bedroom, breathing in each other’s air.
“Never said I wasn’t.” His smirk sends a flash of heat, and I wonder if all I’m ever going to want is this feeling, with him.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, and I remember we’re not the only ones here.
“Oh my god.” I drop my head in my hands like it’ll erase any possible audio leakage from the past thirty minutes. Grant’s laugh reverberates through me as he pulls me closer and nudges my hands out of the way with his. When I peek through them, his smile reflects none of my concern.
“You can’t hear anything from downstairs,” he says, kissing my forehead.
“How would you know!?”
“Well, I never heard anything, even when my sister had company . As long as I steered clear of this floor.”
“ Sloane ,” I gasp in mock horror.
“I told you—I was perfect in comparison.”
I can’t stop smiling at him, can’t stop tracing the curve of his cupid’s bow with my eyes, can’t stop pulling in a breath in order to press into him. I listen closely, trying to discern if there could be anyone lingering outside.
“I should go before I’m seen,” I tell him, waggling my brows. I start to slip out from under the sheets but he isn’t having it.
“In no world,” he says, tugging me closer, “am I letting you go. I want you right here.”
I’m grateful he can’t see my grin, not wanting him to see how far gone I am.
“Let me at least get my pajamas.”
He releases me with a playful eye roll and I quietly shuffle out, hastily throwing on the lavender camisole and short set I brought with this exact scenario in my mind. I’d hoped, but my imagination wasn’t powerful enough to imagine just how perfect we would be. How perfect it would feel.
I slip back into his room just as he’s pulling on a pair of black lounge pants, his indecently hard chest drawing my eye immediately. I place my hands on him, gently push him to the bed, and straddle him, biting my lip as I loop an arm around his neck .
“As much as I want to peel this off you,” he looks up at me, his fingers stroking me over the flimsy fabric of my shorts, “you’re going to be sore.”
“Sounds like a me problem,” I quip, rubbing myself against him.
“And we have to be up early,” he reminds me, lifting me up like I’m weightless and setting me down with gentle ease. “But if two orgasms weren’t enough…”
I settle under the covers once again, rolling my eyes as I feel his arm wrap around my waist. “I just like being so close to you…more than I thought I would,” I admit.
“I know what you mean.” It’s quiet, said into the crook of my neck, and I sink into this feeling—of being wanted, and chosen, and seen. I wiggle into him, nestling myself as close I can, and decide this will do for now.