Page 19 of The Very First Night

His grip tightens as he trails a path of kisses down my neck, eliciting a soft moan. The roughness of his jaw tickles and teases my sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine. His lips then focus on the spot just below my ear, where his tongue traces circles before nibbling on my earlobe.

“Elijah, please,” I whine, wanting him to touch me, fuck me—really anything at this point—a need building in my core unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

“Please what?” he presses, his voice dripping with playful challenge.

I feel my cheeks heat as I realize he wants me to say it out loud. I meet his gaze and see the mischievous glint in his eyes before mustering up the courage to say the words he’s been waiting for.

“Fuck me,” I whisper only inches from his lips.

He swiftly unzips his jeans, letting them fall to the ground in a heap. His boxer briefs are stretched taut against his body, revealing the outline of his aroused cock straining beneath the fabric.

Reaching down, he delves in the back pocket of his discarded jeans and pulls out a foil package. He throws it onto the bed next to me, the packet landing next to my head.

The scent of clean linen invades my senses as I melt into the comforter, Elijah falling on top of me once again. His lips crash into mine with the intensity of a starved man, and he bites my bottom lip just hard enough to sting but not enough to hurt.

Then he lifts himself up with one hand and uses the other to pull his boxer briefs down. While I don’t see him, I feel him as the hard, velvety skin brushes against my inner thigh.

Something in my expression must reveal my thoughts; he quirks a grin but doesn’t say anything. However, his eyes linger on me for a silent moment as if waiting for the go-ahead to proceed. The second he sees me nod in approval in the darkness, he reaches over and grabs the condom. He pulls it to his mouth, using his teeth to rip the foil with one swift motion.

Elijah pulls the latex condom out of its packaging before reaching down and sheathing himself entirely with ease. The condom is slick as he presses his cock against my entrance, my breath catching in my throat in anticipation.

I feel every inch as he slowly presses inside me, the foreign stretch bathing me in a combination of mild pain and a far more intense, growing wave of pleasure. The moment he is buried to the hilt, he nuzzles his face in my neck.

A joke bristles on the tip of my tongue, but it dies as he starts tepidly moving in and out of me. Pleasing friction catapults me into a euphoric abyss, causing a quiet moan to spill past my lips, which only seems to urge Elijah forward as his pace begins to quicken.

“Oh my god,” I moan loudly, earning a grunt of approval in response, right before he slams into me with far less restraint than before, shifting me further into complete and total oblivion.

The creaking of the old bedframe fills the air, mixing fluidly with the moans and grunts of pleasure as we move toward release—well, as he moves toward release. I’ve never really been able to orgasm with a partner, so I don’t even attempt to get myself there and neither does he.

It’s rushed, it’s frenzied, but it’s also all-consuming and feels terrifyingly like the stars are aligning.

Elijah and me.

Me and Elijah.

As it was always meant to be.

Light blares through my dorm room window, the aggression of the early morning sun shooting daggers through my temples. My mouth is dry and all I can think about is getting over to my mini fridge to find a bottle of water. I jerk up in bed, only to realize that there is a strong, muscular arm draped over my midsection.

It takes me no more than a couple of seconds to come back down to reality and realize that it’s Elijah.

My Elijah.

As if he could feel me stirring, Elijah’s eyes flutter open. A hazy grin plasters across his lips almost instantly.

“Hey, you,” he says as his lips pull into a full smile, his eyes meeting my own.

“Good morning.” I smile down at him. The sight of him shirtless in my bed does nothing to help the dryness in my mouth. “I need to grab a bottle of water,” I say, tapping his arm.

“Okay,” he mumbles, squeezing me around my middle before pulling his arm away, giving me the room I need to get out of bed.

My room is an atrocious mess, clothing haphazardly thrown around and only about half of it from the night before. I’ve never been a big fan of cleaning; my messiness always drove my mom nuts when I was at home.

“Do you want one?” I ask as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, the frosty coating on the plastic biting into my palm.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

I walk toward him, almost tripping on my rug, which is bunched around the bed. When I hand Elijah the water bottle, he doesn’t hesitate to grab it from me, chugging over half of it down in a matter of seconds.

---