Chapter Thirty-Three

Maggie

I wake up in Trig’s candlelit bedroom with him beside me. He’s on his side, propped on his elbow. The candlelight flickers and silhouettes his body.

“Trig,” I say softly. “You’re here.”

“I’ve been here. Watching you sleep, staying close in case you needed me.”

“I do need you.” I roll over to face him.

My admission makes me feel vulnerable. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? But I have to say the words aloud. Today when water swirled around the van and Michael stared at me helplessly, I kept thinking we’d die and I’d never told Trig how I felt about him.

He snares my waist, drops down to kiss my neck. Hot kisses heat my skin and my body responds immediately. My breasts tighten. My skin tingles and my core grows slick. When he nips the curve of my neck, I can’t hold back the moan.

“I need you too, Maggie. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine and his hand slips inside my robe. Beneath the robe, I’m naked, and when his fingers trail up my back, I can’t help but moan softly. And in that moment, it’s as if the dam breaks and everything we’ve tried to hold back bursts through the crumbling wall.

I caress the strong, rippling muscles of his back as he tugs the robe from me. I lie naked beneath him. He kisses a trail past my collarbones and further down to my breasts. When he draws my nipple into his mouth a growl rumbles through his body. I close my eyes. The feeling of his mouth on my breast overwhelms me. I lay back and let him do what he wants while powerful shockwaves roll through my body.

“Should I stop?” he asks.

My mind reels. Why would he ask me if he should stop? I smack his shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs and the vibrations roll through his chest and draw a smile to my lips.

“All right,” he drawls.

He moves down my body and instantly I question my bravado of a few moments ago. But I don’t have a chance to object. He nudges my thighs apart and presses his mouth between my legs. My thoughts dissolve. I’ve imagined this but the reality is far, far different than any fantasy.

“Trig…” I whisper.

“Shhh… baby, I’ve got you.”

And he does. Completely. He teases me with the tip of his tongue and it’s as if I lose control over my body. He tightens his hold on me, circling his powerful arm around my waist and pinning me to the bed while he makes me wild. The pleasure is both too much and not enough. He teases me, playing with me and drawing cries and whimpers from me. I spiral up and then he brings me back down.

“You taste like honey,” he says. “I always knew you would.”

“Please… Trig,” I’m begging.

He moves away to kiss my thigh and I want to weep. “Tell me what you want.”

When I don’t respond quickly enough, he nips me.

“Make me come.” And to get him back for deliberately teasing me, I toss out something sassy. “Then fuck me.”

A rumble of laughter rolls through his body, but he doesn’t come back with a reply. Instead, he dips his head down and draws his tongue across my wet core. When he reaches my clit, he sucks it between his lips. If he weren’t holding me down, I’d probably jerk out of his grasp. One moment he sucks me, the next moment he strokes me with his tongue. I feel him press his finger inside me. It stretches me, fills me and sends me over the edge.

I arch beneath him, bowing my back off the bed. Sounds I’ve never made fill the quiet of his bedroom. He responds with a deep, animalistic growl. Coaxing every shred of pleasure from me, he lets me float gently back down to earth. Then he rears up over me, prowling along the length of my body and settling between my thighs.

“You’re tight,” he says. “A virgin.”

My mind turns lazily and I’m too dazed to respond.

“Oh, Maggie…” he whispers.

He presses into me. The head of his cock feels huge. He wraps his arm around my waist and takes short strokes, each one filling me impossibly. I grip his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable pain. When it comes, I cry out. He stops, braces himself on his elbows and kisses me, small kisses along my jaw. He kisses my mouth too, a sweet, slow kiss.

“It gets better,” he says. “Promise.”

“It already is.” I’m telling him the truth. The pain was sharp at first, but when he starts moving again, it ebbs.

His hand drifts along my ribs and he cups my breast. When he strokes his thumb over my nipple, pleasure warms my body. Having him inside me, and his touch on my breast changes my breathing. I gasp and moan beneath him.

The candlelight casts a glow over his face. His eyes burn intensely as he holds my gaze. It’s intimate and it steals my breath. Like he’s reaching inside me with that look, taking what he wants. My body, my soul. The sex is raw and primal. I’d expected that. But the way his eyes strip my protective layers away. I’d never imagined feeling so vulnerable. And safe.

I open to him, offering myself and wrap my legs around his hips.

“Maggie…” he grinds out.

Meeting each stroke, I feel my arousal build and grow. Another orgasm grips me and I let out a low wail. When I follow that with his name, he roars as he thrusts deep inside me and shudders. He rolls beside me and holds me as our breathing slows.

“I worried someone might have hurt you,” he says.

He pulls me against his chest, tucking me next to him and I love the way our bodies fit perfectly.

“But you were a virgin.” He strokes my shoulder.

My memory drifts back to the day I found the letters from my mother’s parents. It was only a few days after her death. I was in the depths of grief and despair, unable to imagine what might happen to me. When I read the letters, part of me hated my mother and what she’d done. It felt like adding insult to injury, if you could put insult and injury on steroids.

It seems so long ago and maybe because I’ve found someone to love and who loves me back I don’t feel angry anymore. Just sad. She must have suffered too.

“I was born out of wedlock and when I found that out, I decided to wait to have sex. In the back of my mind I wanted to wait till I got married, even though I couldn’t ever imagine getting married.”

“Until you met me.” His tone gently teases.

“That’s right. Exactly.” What I say is true and my breath catches with a surge of emotions.

“I never imagined getting married either,” he said tightening his embrace. “But this is what I want. More than anything I’ve ever wanted before.”

I stroke his jaw and tentatively touch his scar. He closes his eyes, but he doesn’t flinch. When I trace my fingers to the edge of the last scar, I lower my hand and he snares my wrist to brush a kiss across my palm.

Then he gets up from the bed and tends to me, helping me wash. The evidence of what we’ve done streaks the bed and wash cloth. I try to take the wash cloth from him but he pushes my hand away.

Tenderly, he cares for me and not just after we’ve made love but for the entire evening, wrapping me in his bathrobe, and taking me to the kitchen where he feeds me from a plate we share. Later we return to his bed. He lies behind me, his body a wall of hard muscle, and with his arm draped over me, I fall asleep feeling blissfully happy.