Page 102 of Scoring Eden

The climax shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. It creeps in, gentle at first, then sweeps me away on a tidal wave of heat and pulses and a deep ache that doesn’t settle until he’s wrung out every last drop of it from my body.

When he’s done, his face shamefully wet, I lie staring at the ceiling as my lungs fight for air. He laughs, lifting me from beneath my back and shifting me toward the middle of the mattress. “Look at the mess you made on my face. Are you ready to make a mess of my cock now too?”

And then he’s over me again, that same thunderstruck look in his eyes as he watches me, his breathing as erratic as mine.

“So. Fucking. Beautiful,” he repeats, punctuating each word with a deep kiss, tongue twisting into my mouth, searching and reverent. “Tell me you’re ready for me.”

Am I?

Yes.

No.

I’m stuck between needing a year-long nap and wanting to ride him until the sun comes up.

So, naturally, I nod and breathe out, “I’m on birth control.”

“I’m clean.”

There’s a long beat where neither of us moves, gazes locked together, the weight of what we’re about to do settling over us like a thick quilt. An acknowledgement that, after this, we’ll be irrevocably changed. For better or worse, I don’t know. But right now, I don’t care.

I just need him.

Inside me. On top of me. His skin sweaty and sliding over mine, our lips latched together, our bodies moving together like we’re one entity, and nothing, not even the world ending, could split us apart.

I need it all. And I need it now.

I lurch toward him, my mouth finding his despite having closed my eyes, like it can sense where it is.

He growls, one hand wrapping around the back of my head as the other fumbles to rid himself of his sweatpants. Then he’s closing in on me, settling his heaviness over my trembling body and guiding himself between my legs.

The first press of him stings. It’s been years since I’ve had a man inside me, and Alex is bigger than Sebastian.

He freezes when I tense, the pads of his fingers ghosting across my cheek. “Are you okay?”

I nod, begging my body to accommodate the stretch of him. I’m desperate to let him inside, shaking from the need of it. “Keep going,” I rasp, arching into him. “Please.”

He presses inside another inch, slow, steady, his thumbs stroking soothing little circles on my temple. “So wet, so tight, Eden. So fucking perfect it hurts to look at you.” Another inch. Then another. “Did you know that? How it kills me to look at you? And yet, not being able to look at you the past few days has been even worse. How does that make sense?”

I don’t know, but I get it.

I feel the same way about him too.

“Nearly there, baby. You’re doing so good.” His head drops to my neck, tongue swiping over my pulse point. “Do you feel how hard you make me? It’s all for you. Only you.”

His gentle praise is everything I need. My body relaxes, my muscles finally settling to make room for the rest of his length.

“Fuck, there we go.” His moan quivers across my throat, igniting one of my own. “Perfect. Goddamn fucking perfect. You’ve ruined me for all other women. Nothing will ever feel as good as this, as perfect as you.”

He’s rambling, the confessions pulled from him by some invisible force he can’t find the strength to fight right now. I hope when this is all over, he doesn’t go looking for it again.

“Is it okay if I start moving? I have to fuck you the way I’ve been dreaming about for weeks.”

God, he’s so sweet. So fucking attentive, and compassionate, and kind. I never stood a chance against the pure goodness of his soul. As distrusting as I was back then, I was done for the moment he fetched me a wet paper towel to clean the ink from my eye on the very first day.

What hope did I have? Of course I was going to fall in love with him.

“Please,” I rasp, and the sound has only just escaped when his hips snap against mine, at first gentle, then harder, spearing me until he’s as in control of his movements as I am of my heart.