Micah - Laurell K. Hamilton [26]
I raised up on my elbows. “But wet. I’m so wet. You’ve made me so wet.”
He licked his lips and swallowed. I could see his pulse jumping in his throat. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“If it hurts, I’ll say so.”
He looked down at me, and his face didn’t look lustful now; it looked nervous, uncertain. I knew he wanted to try to shove himself inside me, but he was afraid to. How many women had hurt him? How many had told him he was a freak, a monster, simply because he was so very male? I sat up enough to wrap my hand around the hard length of him. Just holding it in my hand threw my head back, made me cry out. I stared at him, knowing my eyes were wild, squeezing my hand around him until his head went back, his eyes rolled into his head.
I slid my hand up over him, caressing the soft, luscious head. I leaned back on my elbows, looking at him. “Fuck me, Micah. Fuck me before I stop having little spasms inside me. You made me so wet, so tight, my body is still having little mini orgasms. I want you inside me while my body is still spasming.”
He bent over and kissed me, his mouth still wet from me, still tasting like meat and that fresh taste, almost like rain. People can make fish jokes, but not every woman tastes the same.
He drew back from the kiss, kept himself propped up on his arms. But his body was already pushing against me.
Feeling the weight of him against me made me fall back against the bed. He kept his body above mine so I could see every inch of him as he began to try to push his way inside me.
I was wet enough, but he was so wide, so very wide, that he had to ease his way in, and even easing had a level of force to it. He had to force his way in. If I’d released the ardeur, I would have been more open, more ready for him. The ardeur alone without much foreplay could make my body ready, eager, and more open. But we both wanted me tight, both wanted to feel him fight his way inside me.
The tip vanished inside me, with so much left still. Watching him push inch by inch inside me made me cry out, made my body rise up, so that my hands went around my own thighs. So that I held my legs up and made my body a little ball. So I could see, and feel, all of it.
Halfway through his eyes closed, and he stopped moving, head down. His voice came strained. “So wet. God, so tight. You keep gripping me with your body. It’s like the farther in I push, the more you spasm. Just me pushing inside you, causing small orgasms.”
“Yes,” I said, and my voice was breathy, it was eager. “Yes, the sensation of you inside me, when I’m this tight, this wet. It’s amazing. Oh, God, Micah, don’t stop, don’t stop.”
He raised his face up then and met my eyes. He searched my face as if he thought I was lying to him.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, God, yes.”
“You’re wet enough, but we’ve never tried this when you were this tight, Anita.” Eagerness fought in his eyes with worry. “I can push in faster, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
I stared into his face and said what I was thinking. “I don’t know whose ghost you’re fighting right now, but it’s not me. Whoever you thought you hurt, it wasn’t me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me the way we both want you to.”
I watched him decide with our faces inches apart, our bodies already wedded to each other. I watched him decide. His hips moved forward, shoved himself inside me. I’d told him to stop being careful. He took me at my word.
He shoved himself inside me, fought to push his hardness inside me, as far and as fast as he could. I was too tight and he was too wide for speed, but whereas before when he felt resistance he’d hesitated, now he shoved harder. My body resisted, and his body crashed through. He shoved all that hard, wide meat inside me. He forced his way in, while my body was still trying to figure out if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
On one hand it felt amazing, so hard, so long, so wide, and all inside me. God, it felt good. It flung me back against the bed, tore screams of pleasure from my mouth. It made me writhe around him, wriggling and struggling, caught between