Page 71 of Atone, Adonis

“Alright, dearheart,” he said soothingly and she realized she’d been almost whining.

He switched his fingers back out for his tongue and she arched and writhed. Her limbs were shaking, her hips canting up. “Fred—”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. She could only feel the sensation growing inside her, ready to explode out of her.

All at once his fingers were back in her, while he held his tongue flat against her, and she was shocked into some soaring physical sensation unlike anything else she’d ever felt.

There.

That.

This and him.

The destination was a place of exquisite pleasure. The warmth of the sun and the smell of deep, dark loamy earth, flowers in bloom and the wafting scent of hay on a summer evening. All of her favorite things, all at once. Gratification and sensation and feeling. Transcendent, beautiful, and nearly too much.

“Fred,” she gasped as she shuddered beneath him.

“I’m here.”

He held her close and she shook and shook. And then, when she opened her eyes again, she saw a sheen of tears in his.

“Fred!” She lunged for him, wrapping herself around him. “Fred, I’m sorry.”

“Shhhhh,” he said, stroking her hair. “I’m not upset, Jules. I’m—” He paused, looking for the right word. “I’m moved.”

“Would you like to stop?” she asked. She had to trust him to know what he needed, what he wanted, but she still wished to be certain.

“Only if you do. Do you?”

“No. But I—I don’t wish you to feel anything but joy.”

He smiled at her, his dimples appearing in the firelight. “That is part of what I feel,” he said and his eyes drifted down to his rock hard erection. “But not the entirety of it. I also feel nearly crazed with the need to keep touching you. To hear you make those noises over and over again.”

His eyes were wide, his pupils blown. “What do you want to happen next?” she asked gently.

“Would you touch me, Jules?” he asked and she’d pushed herself up before he’d even gotten the words out.

“Yes,” she said, her lips falling to his cheeks, his neck, his collarbone. “Yes.”

He laid back beneath her caresses, one arm tucked behind his head, framing his face. She made herself go slowly and carefully, giving each part of him the attention it deserved. She caressed the flex of his bicep, kissed the crook of his elbow. Let her tongue lave the tip of his pink nipple as she watched the firelight gild his curls and create shadows in the taut lines of his body.

He smiled at her and her heart stuttered. She was so glad it was him, here with her, against every single odd. She would never want it to be anyone else.

She untied the dressing gown and pushed it off him so she had unfettered access to his body. The planes of his chest, sprinkled with blond hair, his ridged abdomen. She tasted every place while listening to the melody of sounds he made while she did. Little whimpers and grunts and sighs, when her fingers delved into the creases at the sides of his hips. Or her nails scraped across his skin. She leaned down further to take him in her mouth but his hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Not that,” he said. “I’d rather—can I be inside you, Jules?”

“Yes.” Whatever it was he wanted, he could have.

He sat up and gently guided her down so that she was beneath him. And then he covered her, braced up on his forearms, his hips nestled between her thighs. Skin to all that glorious skin. She felt herself reaching up to touch his face again, cupping his cheek in her palm. Letting the tip of her fingers dip in and then out of his dimples.

She couldn’t get enough of it, of being able to touch him.

“Are you certain?” he asked and she nodded.

“Are you?”

“More certain than I’ve ever been in my entire life. About anything.”