“I’ve never fucked without a condom,” he grits between clenched teeth as if it takes all of his willpower to hold on, “it feels so damn good.”
He’s right.
It does feel good.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but there’s something about his bare cock surging rhythmically that makes the pleasure a thousand times greater. He flexes his muscles, pulling out before sliding home.
When a whimper escapes from my mouth, his movements still.
“Am I hurting you?” His voice turns rough with fear.
I shake my head and bite my lip. His concern melts something deep inside that I’d rather not acknowledge.
“Are you sure?” His fingers tighten around my hips, stilling my movements.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I pause before adding, “it feels really good.”
His thrusts become slower. Gentler. His hands drift from my hips over my ribcage before settling on my breasts, palming the soft weight.
Need pools in my core as his body rocks against mine. There has never been this element of tenderness to our sex. I’m almost afraid to read into what it means. The way his fingers stroke over me is more worshipful than anything else. And I realize that I like this just as much as when he gathers the length of my hair in his fist, nips at me with sharp teeth, or pinches my nipples with rough fingertips.
Our bodies move in perfect harmony. Every thrust of his hips makes me soar higher until it feels possible to reach out and touch the stars that crowd the night sky. It doesn’t take long for my world to splinter apart. His name is a fervent cry on my lips. He holds back, never quickening the pace or driving too deep. The rhythm remains constant.
His gaze stays pinned to mine as he groans out his own release. Waves of pleasure crash over his features and I find myself unable to look away. There’s something beautiful about watching this strong boy fall apart and knowing that I’m the one who made it happen.
Instead of crashing back to earth with a painful thud, I drift like a feather on a gentle breeze. Gradually my breathing evens out and my rigidly held muscles loosen, turning lax. My mind clicks back on as I anxiously wait to see how this will play out. This is usually the part when he pulls his softening cock from my body and rolls from the bed, leaving the room as quietly as he appeared.
The thought of that happening after the intimacy we shared has sorrow pushing in at the edges, threatening to swallow me whole. It’s brutal to feel so intensely connected to Kingsley, only to have him callously sever the link.
Our gazes stay locked as his hands slip from my breasts, trailing over my ribcage, before sliding around to my spine. He drags me to his chest, pressing me close. The breath escapes from my lungs in a rush as a tempered bubble of happiness explodes.
I squeeze my eyes tight and allow the steady thumping of his heart to fill my ears. For the first time since Dad died, I can truly breathe again, and within a matter of moments, I’m drifting off to sleep wrapped up in Kingsley’s embrace.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Ready for lunch?” Everly asks as I slam my locker door closed. “I’m freaking famished.”
“Yup.” With my brown paper bag in hand, we walk through the crowded corridor to the cafeteria. Everly chatters about an upcoming party that we’ve heard whispers about but I’m only listening with half an ear.
My gaze gets snagged by Kingsley, who lounges against his locker as a group of football players surround him. When he catches sight of me, he straightens, pushing away from the blue metal and clearing a path through a sea of guys until he stands in the middle of the hall.
“I’m not going to lie,” Everly whispers from the side of her mouth, “you two give me whiplash.”
My gaze never deviates from the dark-haired boy. She’s not wrong. Unfortunately, that’s a perfect way to describe our relationship.
Whiplash.
It’s as exhausting as it is exhilarating. The constant push and pull between us feels as if it will never dissipate. It’s like a fire burning out of control. Even now, I’m not sure if containment is possible.
“Hey,” he says when we’re close enough.
“Hi.” Heat slams into my cheeks as images from last night flash through my brain like a slow-motion picture show. Once again, our relationship has changed, morphing into something new. There is a fragile peace that has sprung up between us.
A truce of sorts.
During the day, he hovers protectively over me, but there is still a distance between us. We aren’t the same as we once were. Under the cover of darkness, though, it’s an entirely different story. He doesn’t allow me the same freedom. I’m exposed and vulnerable. He worships my body, forcing me to orgasm over and over again until I want to die with the pleasure he is capable of giving. It’s as if he’s trying to convey all the pent-up emotions that scratch and claw beneath the surface of our relationship. Afterwards, I fall into an exhausted sleep against his chest. When I wake in the morning, his arms are wrapped protectively around me.