time to feel. He had closed down.
But he couldn’t shut these feelings off. Couldn’t staunch the flow of emotion that seemed to bleed inside of him like a hidden wound. When he looked at Jessica, he had no control.
“I want to do more than that. I want to make love with you tonight. But you tell me, if it hurts. And I’ll stop. I don’t care how hard it is for me to stop, I will. I would never hurt you.” Even as he said the words he feared they weren’t true. Not that he wouldn’t stop making love with her if it hurt, he was confident he would do that.
But he feared he might hurt her emotionally. That he might have a part in causing her further pain that way. He didn’t want to, but to avoid it he would have to turn back. And at this point, even that would hurt her.
More than that, he feared what would happen to himself. Selfish, maybe. But he felt like he was standing at the edge of a fire, toying with the idea of touching the flame. Then throwing himself into it.
They were in too deep to escape unscathed. But then, maybe they had been from the beginning. That connection—instant, seemingly physical—had been more from the moment they’d met.
She nodded slowly. “I want that. And I’m not even nervous. Which is crazy but I just … know it will be good. That I’ll be good.”
“Something I have no doubt about,” he said, forcing words through his tightened throat.
She laughed. “I’m glad.”
“Oh, Jess, you are the most beautiful woman. The most fascinating. Bewitching.” He kissed her. Her lips were so soft, so warm. They heated him, all the way through his body, his blood burning in his veins, his body getting hard.
She parted her lips and angled her head, her hand pressed to his cheek. He took advantage of the move and slid his tongue into her mouth, sliding it against hers, the intimate action sending a hard kick of lust through him.
It roared in him like a beast, one that demanded satisfaction. That demanded he lay her down in the sand and take what he needed. That he use her to fill the emptiness inside of him. Because she could. She was the only one who could.
He put his hands on her hips, braced her. Braced him. He curled his fingers in, gripped the full skirt of her dress tightly in his palms. He wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t make this hard and fast, he wouldn’t make it about his satisfaction.
He would give to her. He would control his own need. He would master it.
It was Jessica who changed the game. Jessica who moved her hands over his chest, down to where he was hard and ready for her. She was a mass of contradictions, his Jessica. So confident in giving pleasure. So hesitant to receive it.
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