Page 63 of She’s Worth the Risk

“I want to feel you too,” I say, climbing over her, erection settling at her entrance.

Her skin is velvet against me, and I take a moment to enjoy the feeling, kissing her slowly, loving how close she is. My hands tremble as I brush a strand of hair from her eyes, thinking of that life-drawing class when she wouldn’t look at me, when I couldn’t stop myself from touching her. Even then, I knew. I knew how I felt about her.

“Zinnia…” I gaze into her hazel eyes, the ring of gold around them brighter than ever. I want to tell her that she’s turned my world upside down, that I wasn’t even living before I met her, but it’s too much.

Instead, I capture her mouth with mine and sink into the tight heat of her. The pleasure is so instant, so intense, that I nearly black out. I press my eyes shut, head falling into her neck as I try to catch my breath.

“Jesus… fuck,” I choke out.

Zinnia’s hands stroke my hair, my neck, lips against my ear. “I know,” she breathes. “Fuck, I know.” When I draw away to meet her gaze, she looks dazed, as if drugged.

I stare at her in disbelief. At how utterly incredible it feels to be inside her. Yes, it’s been forever since I’ve had sex, but it never once felt like this.

Like coming home.

I take her mouth in a bruising kiss, rolling my hips. She moans, fingers tightening in my hair, and heat rockets through me.

Christ, I need to be careful. This can’t be over yet.

“Yes,” Zinnia moans, wrapping her legs around me. “Deeper.”

I grip her thighs, balls hitting her ass as I bury myself to the hilt, bottoming out inside her.

Oh, fuck.

“Like this?” I growl. The edge of my vision blurs, muscles burning as I try to hold the pleasure at bay.

Zinnia’s eyes roll back into her head, and she gives a stuttering whimper in assent. Sliding a hand between us, I work her clit as I rock into her, focusing on her pleasure. She feels amazing—too amazing—warm and wet, gripping me like a vise, and I know I don’t have long.

“God, Zinnia, you feel so fucking good,” I rasp, hips speeding up despite myself.

“Yes, Nick,” she whimpers. “Tell me.”

“You feel like heaven, honey.” Her plea urges me on, and the next words spill from my mouth without permission. “Like everything I could ever want.”

She moans, nails raking my scalp. The sensation makes my balls draw up tight, and I hold my breath in desperation.

Not yet.

“I’m so close,” Zinnia rasps, bucking underneath me.

But it’s too late.

Shit, shit, shit. No.

Pleasure surges through me, and I bury my face in her shoulder, my release bringing nothing but shame.

“Fuck,” I mutter, face hot. “God, I’m sorry. I wanted to last longer.”

Zinnia strokes my cheek, breathing a sigh. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It’s more than okay.”

But my jaw tightens, and I pull away.

It’s not okay. It’s fucking embarrassing.

I grab my glasses off the coffee table and tug on my boxer-briefs with unsteady hands, heading to the bathroom for a washcloth. I can’t even look at Zinnia as I hand it to her, ducking into the bedroom for a moment alone.

My skin burns as I sink onto the edge of my bed. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my stammering heart. This is why I don’t let myself feel. With art, with women. With anything. I can’t control it, and it’s too much.