Heat

He stiffened, winced.

“Don’t...” I saw his eyes narrow, flash in the low cabin light. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

I stood from the bed and walked to him, driven by the momentum of our week together, our beautiful week. I felt that everything we’d done, all of our discussions and fighting and joking and challenging each other had led to right now.

My legs were unsteady, but I felt the crazy, nonsensical rightness of this moment in each of my nerve endings. I took his hand in mine and placed his palm on my left breast. My heart was beating sure and steady, but deep and hard—like my blood was viscous and my heart was working with effort. Then I covered his heart with my hand.

“I’m in love with you, Martin. And I’m saying it because I mean it,” I whispered.

His gaze darted between mine and he blinked with hesitation, like I might disappear if he closed his eyes. Suddenly I was crushed to him, encircled in his strong arms, his mouth on mine, and he was walking me backward with stumbling steps to the bed.

“I want you,” he said between kisses, my back hitting the mattress as he rose above me.

“I want you too,” I said.

“God, I love you. I love you so much.” He trailed a licking, biting, sucking path to the valley between my breasts, then back to my neck, frantic movements that told me he was overcome, wanting all of me at once. I was all waves and spikes of sensation, longing, and wound, taut desire.

“Say it again,” he demanded.

“I love you,” I breathed. And then again, this time for myself, because I felt it, “I love you.”

He growled harshly, his hands tightening on my body in response.

“Please,” he said, biting my neck, hot breath making me shiver, his hand at my breast, kneading. “Please, I need to be inside you.”

I tilted my head back, offering him more of my neck. “I thought you didn’t beg.”

His hand skimmed from my breast to the waist of my shorts, sending a shock of goosebumps in its wake. His fingers pushed into my panties and between my legs, parting me, rubbing a tight circle over my clitoris, and making me cry out.

“I’m not begging,” he said, entering me with his fingers. “I’m asking nicely.”

I laughed, but then abruptly sucked in a sharp breath as Martin removed his fingers, grabbed my shorts, and pulled both my pajamas and my underwear down my legs. He took advantage of the moment to also shed his pants then reached over to the nightstand. When he returned I noticed a few things at once.

He was straddling me, his penis fully erect, entirely recovered, and jutting out from between his legs, not quite resting on my belly. The sliver of moonlight filtered through the underwater portholes, casting his beautiful body in blue-ish white relief. I reached for his sides, gripped him just above his narrow hips, loving the smooth texture of his skin over the hard planes of his muscles.

Glaring down at me, he brought a foil packet to his teeth and ripped it. My eyes widened at the sight because…sex.

We were going to have sex.

I was going to have sex.

In about two minutes or less I was no longer going to be a virgin.

Holy crap.

I wasn’t sure what I thought was going to happen when I told him I loved him, and I wouldn’t take it back because it was true, but immediate post I love you sex hadn’t even entered my mind. According to Martin, one minute I wasn’t ready to administer blow jobs, the next minute I was ready to lose my virginity.

“Whoa! Wait, wait a minute!” I held my hands up between us.

Martin didn’t exactly wait, nor did he exactly move forward with the pending deflowering. Rather, his hands stilled right before he rolled the condom over his dick. Then he grabbed my wrists, held them down on the bed at my sides, and loved my breasts with his hot mouth and tongue and teeth.

“Tell me what you want,” he said between inhibition-demolishing kisses, suckles, and bites. “Do you want me inside you?”

“Ah,” I breathed as he released one of my wrists and brought his middle finger to my mouth; he dipped it inside. Instinctively I sucked on it, swirling it with my tongue. Then he trailed the wet tip from my chin, between my breasts, over my abdomen, and finally, finally parted my thighs and entered me. His middle finger stroked up and down, circling my center yet never quite touching where I needed.

“Because I want you, I want you so many ways.” He bit the underside of my breast, making me jump. “Do you want me?”

I was going to say yes, but what came out instead was a breathy, “I’m on birth control.”

He stilled. Groaned. His forehead dropped then pressed against my ribs.

“Fuck me,” he said. Then I sensed him throw the condom to the floor. Sliding up my body to cup my cheek, his voice soft and serious as his eyes searched mine, “I’m clean, I promise. I would never take a chance with you.”

I nodded and swallowed. I trusted him. I loved him. His body was heavy over mine and I felt less in control than I’d ever felt in my entire life. He must’ve read the fear in my face because he gave me a soft kiss then nuzzled my ear.

“You want me to eat your sweet pussy first? I’m going to taste you and make you come with my mouth. If you want more of me inside you, then you’ll have to ask nicely.”

My breathing was coming fast, pants of trepidation and anticipation. I had the fleeting thought that it hardly felt fair, leaving the entire decision to me when I wasn’t the one who was experienced, when I could never be fully informed of what losing my virginity would feel like until after it happened.

He nipped my bottom lip then moved to explore his way down my body, but I caught his arms before he could go far.

His eyes came back to me and I knew mine were wide with alarm. “Wait…how bad is it going to hurt? On a scale from one to ten?”

He gave me a cherishing smirk and smoothed my hair away from my face, his eyes sobering, losing a bit of their haze of desire. “It doesn’t feel great, Parker. There’s a lot of bullshit out there. I’ve never heard of a girl getting off her first time.”

“But you said you had, and I quote, ‘fucked plenty of virgins…’ end quote. None of them have ever, you know, orgasmed? During their first time?”

Martin cleared his throat and glanced away, exhaling a little laugh. “You want to talk about other girls right now?”

“Yes and no. I don’t need to know their names or what color their nail polish was or whether you loved any of them, but I’d like to hear at least some empirical data so I can make an informed decision.”

“I didn’t love them,” he said suddenly. Frowning, he added, “But no, none of them orgasmed the first time.”

“And other confounding variables?”

His frown softened. “Such as?”

“Were you wearing a condom?”

“Always.”

“And did they love you?”

He hesitated. I could see he was thinking, and then answered with impressive honesty, “Yes. I think one of them did.”

I bit my lip, my eyes blinking furiously. For some reason that thought made me feel numb.

He studied me, his fingers absentmindedly playing between my legs, like he couldn’t help himself. I was alternating between aroused, very aroused, very scared, very concerned, and—finally—very aroused.

Then, on the vein of continuing his impressive honesty, he added, “I’ve never fucked anyone without using a condom. I’ve never thought about anything but protecting myself and getting off, and how good it feels while it’s happening. It feels better if the girl is really into it, but it wasn’t required. I’ve never…made love to anyone, and I’ve never been concerned about the girl’s enjoyment more than mine. But, I swear to God, Kaitlyn,” he licked his lips, his eyes darting between mine, “I want to make this amazing for you. I want you every day for the rest of my life. I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want your body—just like I want your heart and your mind—and I do want to feel you lose control while I’m inside you.”

I sighed, breathing out some of my fear and inhaling courage. I nodded, pressing my lips together. He kissed me, pressed the tip of his middle finger against my center, then whispered, “I’ll make this so good for you, the next time you’ll get on your knees and beg me for it.”

I moaned, arching my back, which made him chuckle and place a wet kiss on my right breast.

“So beautiful,” he said, trailing more slippery kisses against my skin, sending coiling heat to my core. “So fucking perfect.” He bit my hip. It hurt, but it also felt wonderful.

He spread my legs wide, placing his large hands on the inside of my thighs and holding me open. He breathed on my center then licked me—hot and soft and slippery. He tongued my opening and slid the tips of his fingers along the inside of my thighs, tickling me and sending a new wave of shivering goosebumps racing over my skin.

He proceeded to tease me, his touches, lapping, licking, and stroking never enough to push me over the edge, but more than enough to drive me crazy.

I felt empty and needy.

So I reached for him, threaded my fingers through his hair to his temples, and said, “Please, please…”