Page 156 of A Million To Fall

He glances up at me, eyes dark with hunger, but searching.

I whimper, nodding.

And then he buries his face between my thighs and devours me with the same reverence as yesterday, like my body is something precious, something to be cherished instead of owned.

The pleasure builds fast—the heat and pressure familiar now, but still just as overwhelming—and only minutes later, I shatter. Boston’s name tumbles from my lips in broken pieces as pleasure rolls through me until I’m left shaking beneath him, utterly undone.

But even as I try to catch my breath, reaching for him with trembling hands, I know.

It’s not enough.

Not because what he gave me wasn’t, but because I want all of him.

I want him woven into every part of me, absorbed into every cell.

Boston lifts his head, his own need written all over his face—from his half-lidded gaze to the high flush on his cheeks to his parted lips glistening with my arousal.

“I want you,” I whisper. “I want to feel you. All of you. Please.”

He doesn’t move, something vulnerable flickering across his face.

Then he shakes his head once. “No,” he says. “Not here. Not like this.”

My brow furrows, but before I can protest, he gathers me against his chest—his skin so warm, so soft—and stands.

I wrap my arms around his neck automatically. “What are you—”

But he’s already moving, striding toward his bedroom. Past the fake orchid sitting on the counter. Toward the bed with the comforter we picked out together and the throw pillows I insisted he needed.

He lowers me onto his bed so gently, it’s as if I was made from glass.

“You deserve softness,” he says, his gaze dragging down my naked body, fresh heat flaring behind his gray irises. “You deserve to be worshiped. And I want to remember this.”

I swallow, my eyes following every move of his hands as he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down his hips, stripping the last pieces of clothing from his body.

He’s perfect. His sculpted chest, his taut arms, his… length—thick, hard, and breathtaking. I swallow, suddenly so aware of where this moment is headed.

And god, I want it.

Slowly, he climbs onto the bed, settling between my thighs.

“You’re sure?” he breathes.

I only nod, convinced the only sound I’d be able to force out is a desperate whimper.

He nods once, then reaches into his nightstand, retrieving a condom.

“Oh, I’m… on birth control.”

Boston’s gaze drops to the condom in his hand. A shadow crosses his expression before it’s gone.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But I can’t take any risks with you.” His gaze finds mine again. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened because I wasn’t careful.”

So I nod and watch with lustful eyes as Boston skillfully rolls the condom onto himself.

“Stormy,” he rasps. “Tell me to stop if—”

“Oh my god, stop torturing me,” I breathe, fingers pressing into his sides. “Please… I need you.”