I did and the pressure passed, but now Marco looked like he was the one in pain. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was being tortured. After a few more times of this, he froze, as if concentrating with all his might.
“You okay?” he asked me, his voice quaking.
“Yeah.”
“’Cause this is as far as I can go.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“It actually feels kind of good,” I told him, relieved, and he released a sound somewhere between a chuckle, a grunt, and a groan.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbled, as he cradled me securely in his arms. “Hold on.” Not sure what he was doing, I did, and he rolled us across the bed, reversing our positions while remaining inside of me. “Okay, do whatever you want.”
“What?” I asked, stymied.
“You’re in charge. Wherever you lead, I’ll follow. Just know that I’m only about one thrust or touch or kiss away from a nuclear fucking explosion.” I giggled. “Christ! Or that. That could do it, too.”
Happy to put him out of his misery, I moved my hips experimentally. Marco threw his head back, chiseled jaw in the air, visibly grinding his teeth, but I didn’t want him to hold back anymore. I remembered the bucking motion that had come so naturally to me when he’d touched me in his office and attempted to replicate it.
His hands went to my hips as if he meant to hold on for dear life, and I increased my pace. Things were just starting to feel especially enjoyable when he groaned louder than before. I latched my mouth onto his neck, listening to every sound he made as I finally brought him the same kind of pleasure he’d already brought me.
Twice.
Once he quieted, I thought it would be over, but he started moving again, still hard inside me. I swiveled my hips against his, feeling that familiar escalation of anticipation I’d only ever experienced with Marco. Much more laidback now, his hands left my hips to rub up and down my back, across my breasts, and along my stomach.
Tangling one hand in my hair while the other drifted down between my legs, he plundered my mouth with this tongue at the same time that his fingers worked their magic. I flew over the edge again, the intensity stronger than ever, and Marco caught me on the way down, guiding me safety and reverently back to earth.
18
Marco
I never planned to get out of this bed. Not ever. There couldn’t be anywhere in the solar system that felt better than this, so what would be the point?
Kelly lay up against me, her caramel head on my shoulder, sound asleep. Every cell in my being had become lost in a bliss-filled stupor, and I smiled to myself, relatively certain that I’d never been quite this content before.
I relived some of my favorite memories from our time here in this tucked away cottage suite. Customarily, reliving a passion-filled night would entail lots of kink and a random woman I hardly knew.
Now, though, while I certainly remembered the blatantly sexual portions, I also remembered the nonsexual ones. Like the way Kelly had helped settle me down after that waking fucking nightmare I’d had. Or the way she’d treated my ugly-ass scars, as if they didn’t repulse her in the least. As if they hadn’t bothered her at all.
She’d even kissed them, every inch of them, and the thought of that made my nose and eyes sting.
Christ, get a grip.
I didn’t do this sort of thing. I didn’t get emotional.
Gabriel, on occasion. Luca, when things got horrendously bad too close to home. Sandro, very rarely. But me? Not since my father had ever so lovingly called me a pussy for daring to be upset over losing the first girl I’d ever cared about.
I’d transformed myself into a hardened piece of flint after that. It made dealing with the harsh realities of life easier to withstand. I simply didn’t allow myself to go there. Not even when the fire had been licking at my skin. Not even when the medical staff had had to debride—remove without anesthetic—the dead and damaged parts of my burn so it could heal.
I might’ve screamed a few times, but actually get teary-eyed enough to weep? No. Yet the more I thought about the depths of compassion Kelly had shown me, not pity—I couldn’t tolerate that—but compassion, the more the feeling intensified.
What the hell was wrong with me?
She’d always been kind and nurturing, from that first day on. But today? I’d been so sure she’d find my scars repugnant. That she’d be disgusted by them. That she’d take one look and run horrified from the room. I’d anticipated that because I’d seen other people’s reactions.
Not the medical personnel, they appeared to be used to such injuries, but Rosa had come to visit me in the hospital once. They’d been changing out my bandages when she came in, and the expression on her face had said it all. Even Sandro and Gabriel had gotten these constricted looks sometimes, like they wanted to cringe.