Page 185 of Nyx

He waits, hips frozen until I look back at him.

I clench my muscles, loving the way his eyes look a little wild.

A part of me wants to test him, to tell him to stop, just to be sure he would.

The part of me that is trying to redirect my thoughts, to force myself into making this something it isn't, wants to ask him to stop, hoping he'll get angry and doesn't. This man behaving exactly how I always expected men to behave would be easier on my heart than a man who would not only meet the expectations of a great man, but would go a step further.

The toxic thoughts pull me from the moment for a second longer than I'd like, but even without opening my mouth to express my concerns, he's too observant, too focused on me to let it slip past.

He shifts his hips back, the pull of my core sliding against his, and it makes me moan.

Physical. Just focus on the physical.

I want what he promised so badly. I want my body to quiver and shake. I want to feel the pulse of his own orgasm inside of me.

It's the emotional aspect I need to take a back seat to right now.

I lock my legs as best as I can around his hips.

"Don't stop," I beg. "I need this."

"You're sure?"

I nod, swallowing against the lump in my throat, knowing he would pull the plug on this in a second, even though every muscle in his body is tight and he could probably get himself off in just another handful of strokes.

He continues to watch me, his eyes evaluating more than I can imagine.

"Tell me, baby. I want to hear the words," he urges, hips still static and unmoving.

"I'm sure," I vow. "Make me come."

A slow smile spreads across his face, and in the next breath he pushes forward again, my body accepting all that he has to give.

The ache of fullness isn't unpleasant. In fact, it's possibly the best thing I've felt in my entire life, so I focus on that alone.

I don't close my eyes. I don't fight the intimacy I feel with his eyes locked right on mine.

I nod, the best I can do with the way my body feels.

The pull, the push, the grind.

He doesn't speed up or slow down, but there's nothing mechanical about what we're doing.

He's just as in this moment with me as I am.

"Yes," he praises, the word breathy and more air than verbal sound. "Give it to me."

And I do.

My body obeys, clenching and pulsing around him, doubling in force when he moans my name.

"Juliet."

I tremble under him, feeling drained despite his doing all the work.

"Can I come?"

The question throws me off for a brief second, but I know it's just another level of respect he's offering me.