Page 48 of Wraith: Lethal Impact

He eases back onto his heels, giving me room. Giving me the choice.

I rise and pull his shirt over my head myself, baring my skin to the humid air. His breath leaves him slow through his teeth.

"Beautiful." The word scrapes out of him like it costs him something.

He strips the rest away piece by piece, unhurried, calloused hands sliding the damp fabric down my legs. The air hits my bare flesh in a wash of heat and goosebumps. I've spent my life aware of my body—an instrument, a discipline, a thing to be corrected in mirrors. Under his hands it becomes something else. Something worshipped.

He starts at my jaw. His mouth moves down the column of my throat, pausing at my pulse until my heartbeat rises to meet his lips. His hands map me like terrain—the curve of my waist, the ladder of my ribs, the crease of my hip—each pass slower than the last, until my skin feels tuned to him, every nerve waiting to learn where he'll land next.

"Please." It leaves me on a breath.

"Patience." Warm against my collarbone. "You'll get everything."

My toes point of their own accord—fifteen years of training reduced to a reflex under his mouth. He captures my breast, thumb circling the tightening peak, letting the ache build until I'm trembling for a reason that has nothing to do with fear, before his mouth finally closes over it.

A ragged gasp tears from my throat. I arch my back, burying my hands in his dark hair. The sensation is electric, pulling a desperate heat into my core.

He lifts his head, gray eyes locking onto mine.

"The first time usually hurts." His voice is a low rumble. "And I'm big. I don't want to hurt you."

A genuine laugh bubbles up in my throat. I slide my hands down the rigid muscles of his chest. "That's okay. You can make it up to me during rounds two and three."

Shock flashes across his face, swallowed by a dark grin. Virginal, but not innocent—he's finally getting it.

"Rounds two and three." He repeats the promise, his voice thick. "I'm not going to rush. I'm going to savor this."

His hand slides down my stomach, rough fingers stripping the last of the fabric away. He parts my thighs, his touch firm and possessive.

He makes sure pain isn't the first thing I feel.

His fingers find the slick heat between my legs. He strokes me, mapping my reactions, waking nerve endings I never knew existed. His mouth returns to my breast. He draws the peak between his lips, sucking hard before his teeth bite down.

The pressure builds fast. He deepens the touch between my thighs, his thumb finding the sensitive nerve and settling into a relentless rhythm while his teeth scrape my nipple.

I cry out, my hips lifting off the canvas. The control I fought so hard to maintain shatters. The tension coils tight in my stomach and detonates into a blinding flash of pure sensation.

I shatter around his fingers, fingernails digging into his shoulders as the orgasm tears through my body.

He lifts his head, watching me come apart. His expression is dark and satisfied.

He shifts his weight, settling his hips between my thighs.

"Look at me." He catches my wrists, pinning my hands above my head on the rough canvas.

I lock my eyes with his.

"I'm not usually gentle." His voice is a rough rasp. "But I'm going to try. Even so ... It's going to hurt."

"That's okay. Pain doesn't frighten me." I lift my hips, seeking the friction. "And you could never frighten me. Please don't treat me like I'll break."

He hesitates, the operator warring against his instincts.

"I want my first time to be memorable." The demand leaves my lips in a rush. "I've fantasized about this moment with you."

Amusement flashes across his dark expression. "You fantasized about me?"

"I did." A breathless laugh escapes my throat. "And in my fantasies—you were never gentle."