Breaking Him (Love is War #1)(57)

I smiled at him and took my shirt off.

His breaths grew into jagged pants, and I loved the way his hungry, adoring eyes drank in the sight of me.

To reward him I took off my bra.

“Jesus,” he muttered before bending down and taking one sensitive tip into his mouth.

This I could hardly take. I needed something, more, anything, but couldn’t articulate any of it because I wasn’t quite sure what it was.

So I just kept rocking on top of him while he licked and sucked at my sensitive breasts, his hands cupping them, kneading them, feeling at every inch of flesh I’d bared until he had it measured and memorized, all the while making noises like he was losing his mind.

Eventually he laid me on my back and brought his lips back to mine.

“Take your shirt off,” I told him. I needed to feel his skin against mine, his chest against my breasts while they were still wet from his mouth.

He straightened and did it, then paused for a moment, his hands going to the button of his pants.

I’d known he was growing by the day, getting less lean and more bulky, but it wasn’t until then that I saw just how muscular he was now. Looking at him then I saw not a trace of the boy I loved. Instead I saw the man he was becoming. A man I knew even then that I’d spend my life being infatuated with.

I watched unblinking, legs sprawled apart, wearing nothing but my shorts.

He squared his jaw and took his hand away then crawled back between my thighs still wearing his jeans.

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

This was even better than before with him on top rubbing hard between my legs, our chests smashed together, his mouth hot and hungry on mine.

His hands explored me again, reaching every place they could with our mouths melded together.

He shifted off me and slid his fingers slowly, tentatively up my inner thigh.

I squirmed, hands in his hair, kissing him for all I was worth.

When I didn’t stop him, he reached higher, grazing his fingertips up into the legs of my shorts.

I stiffened a bit but still didn’t stop him.

My shorts were tight, and his big hand going into the leg hole made them tighter, but somehow he managed to get it in there and then he was grazing my sex lightly with his knuckles.

I was intimidated, but it felt good, so I rubbed myself tentatively against the top of his hand.

He moaned into my mouth and turned his wrist until he held me in his palm.

I rubbed and rubbed against him until his hand was slick from the contact.

“Jesus,” he muttered at me. “You’re wet.”

The way he said it, like it was so significant, was foreign to me, but his tone just about did me in.

He started pushing one of his thick, blunt fingers into me and I stiffened like a board, my nails digging into his scalp.

“Mmm, God, oh God,” he breathed at me, pushing the finger in deeper and deeper, until it started to hurt.

I whimpered when he just kept pushing. He stopped at my noise but didn’t pull it out.

He didn’t budge either, just stayed where he was, panting on top of me.

“Does it hurt?” he finally got out.

“A little. What are you doing?”

He moaned and started moving his finger, pulling it out slightly then moving it back in again, though not as deep this time. “Just tell me if you’re not ready, okay? I just want to feel you with my finger. I just want to push in a little deeper, okay?”

I was not ready, but I found myself saying, ”Okay.”

He pushed it deeper until he’d reached that spot, and he was hitting against a small barrier and the pain thrummed inside of me again. He moved his finger lightly from side to side, feeling at it, exploring me without delving any deeper.

I was sure we’d gone farther than I was ready for, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.

The desperate noises he was making as he felt me for the first time were intoxicating.

I’d have given myself to him right then just to keep him in that state.

For love. For passion. For calculation. Take your pick. Each one applied.

He started thrusting in and out, in and out, stopping just shy of the barrier, but it wasn’t the best angle with how his hand was placed and after a few frustrating minutes, he pulled it out with a curse.

He panted on top of me, fists on each side of my face keeping him aloft.

Watching his pained face, I reached down and felt him through his jeans.

I’d never seen it before, but the shape of him even through his clothes fascinated me. He was so hard and there was so much of him straining to get out. I rubbed at him earnestly, learning his shape, squeezing and pulling at him through the stiff material.

Abruptly, cursing, he sprang off me and was gone, down the hall and in the bathroom with the door closed.

I stood up and followed him, not bothering to put my shirt or bra back on.

I listened at the door for one beat, two, and realizing he wasn’t going to the bathroom, I slowly opened the door.

He was at the sink, one hand braced on the wall.

He had his jeans unzipped and pulled down far enough to bare his thick, naked sex, and he had it in his hand and was frantically stroking it, yanking it hard enough that it looked like he was hurting himself.

His eyes snapped open, and he stared at me like a deer caught in headlights. Then his eyes shifted down to my breasts, and he started jerking faster.