Page 19

I work her through it. Don’t stop until she stops trembling.

Then I climb up her body. Kiss her, so she can taste herself on my tongue. Feel her shiver into me again.

She reaches for the hem of my t-shirt.

I let her pull it up over my head.

Her fingers stop on the knife scar low on my ribs.

She doesn’t ask. She traces it with a soft thumb. Then bends her head and kisses it.

Warmth spreads through my chest.

She kisses the next one. A pale mark on my shoulder. She doesn’t ask about that one either. She kisses it and moves on. Finds the one on my forearm the ink almost hides. Kisses that too.

By the time she reaches for the waistband of my sweatpants, I’m shaking.

“Rosalie.”

She looks up.

“I need to be inside you. Now.”

I strip. Come back to her. She sees the length of me and her lips part. Her cheeks go pink again in a way that has me groaning.

“Will we fit?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

I settle over her, one forearm braced beside her head, the other hand on her hip. She wraps her legs around me. I push the tip of my cock into her, wait for her to adjust, murmuring sweet nothings I didn’t know I was capable of as I nip her earlobe and nibble at the corners of her mouth. I inch forward a little more at a time until I am fully sheathed by her pussy. She is tight and hot and slick with what my mouth just did to her and I have to hold still for longer than she needs me to before I can trust myself to move without spilling into her like an inexperienced teenager.

“Amore mio,” I say, into her throat. “Dio, sei bellissima.”

She lifts her hips.

I thrust into her with slow, deep strokes, watching her face. Every time I bottom out she makes a small sound and every time I pull almost all the way out her nails dig into my back. Her breasts move against my chest with the rhythm. Her curls have come loose out of the pink cord and are spread across my pillow.

I lift up on my forearms so I can watch the way she takes me.

She comes on my cock with her forehead pressed against mine and her whole body convulsing. Her contractions are so strong, I follow her over the edge, groaning and bucking wildly.

We lie there, my weight on my forearms, her legs still around me. Both of us breathing hard.

“Rosalie.”

“Mm.”

“I am not done.”

“Good.”

I laugh. It is a small, rough, unfamiliar thing in my chest and it startles her enough that she lifts her head off the pillow to look at me.

I roll us. Bring her on top of me. She catches herself on her palms against my chest. Her curls fall around my face.

“Ride me.”

Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.