Page 24 of My Pucking Family

“Are you okay?” he asks with worry in his eyes.

At first, I can only nod, but he seems to be waiting for me to speak. “Yes, yes, yes. I'm more than okay,” I ramble as I sit up and pull my shirt off.

His hungry eyes turn completely to molten desire, and the power I have over this monster of a man urges me on. I reach forward and trail my fingers across the ripples of muscles on his chest before I bring my hands behind me to unclasp my bra and gently toss it off the side of the bed.

Roman looks between my chest and my eyes, like he's not sure how to proceed without crossing the line of my wishes, so Ireach across the small space between us, take his hand in mine, and slowly bring it to my breast.

The second his hand engulfs me, my head falls back. The tingling and sensations flying through my body are otherworldly. I never want this feeling to stop. He brings his other hand up to my other breast, and the intensity of it causes me to moan, and for once, I can't find an ounce of embarrassment.

His lips trail kisses along my neck and shoulder, nipping and almost whining when he reaches the soft skin in the bend of my neck. His hands begin to kneed my breast and nipples, and I gasp at the change in the already intense feelings. I swear, there is literal lava collecting between my thighs.

He continues his exploration of the top half of my body, and I feel like I'm being worshipped and torn apart all at the same time.

His kisses leave my neck and skitter across my collarbone. He continues kissing his way down my body until he's eye level with my chest. I'm wriggling and panting and holding on to him for dear life when he makes eye contact with me, and so incredibly slowly, let's his tongue fall out of his mouth. Maintaining eye contact, he leans farther forward and uses his tongue to trace circles around my nipple, and this time, it's me who growls.

The heat in my body continues to rise, and I feel like I'm losing my mind, but oh, what a way to go. I feel like fire is dancing through my veins, and I've never felt as treasured as I do in this moment with him. My mate.

My fingers instinctually tangle in his hair and hold him to me while he sweetly tortures each breast.

He finally pulls back to look into my eyes again, and the green and blue hues of his eyes almost seem to be glowing.

“P-please. I need…”I don't know what I need, but I just know I NEEEEEED it.

“I know, baby. I know. Are you sure you're comfortable?”

“Yes. Please. Help. Touch me,” I beg.

He leans back into my body, kissing a path down my sides and around my belly button before continuing across my waistband, making eye contact again as if asking for permission.

Instead of answering him, I reach down and shimmy myself loose from the black joggers I wore to class today. He takes a deep breath through his nose, growls, and rolls his neck again before laying his body beside mine on his massive bed.

I begin to whine and protest because I want, no need, his attention where the liquid fire continues to collect, but he silences me for a moment with another blistering kiss.

Each kiss I've had with him grows stronger, more urgent, more life-altering. This one is no different. Our bare skin connected from the waist up is causing my brain to misfire. All there is in this moment is me and him. I notice even his normal cherry and leather smell has gotten stronger and a bit—how do I explain it—muskier?

While his lips devour mine, his fingers are again trailing my body, and all I can do is hold onto him. When he reaches the edges of my pink lace thong, my hips take on a mind of their own and lift into the pressure of him, and I moan.

He slips his fingers lower, still outside of my panties, and he's almost where my body is screaming with need. When his fingers connect with a bundle of nerves, I cry out, causing him to groan, and I can feel his need for me against my hip.

He rubs his fingers around the sensitive spot, and I swear, my very existence is coming unraveled. I don't know what to do with my hands; they're frantically touching him everywhere I can reach. My hips won't rest on the bed, begging him to keep going.

He breaks our kiss, and now all I can hear is my moaning whimpers and his growly, labored breathing. He bends himself over me, taking one of my still tender nipples in his mouth, twirling his tongue around it while his fingers are on the move again, retreating further south.

When he reaches the sodden pink lace separating us, I throw my head back and moan his name.

That seems to be the key to unlocking a little bit of my mate's control, because once he has a hold of the flimsy material separating us, he says, “I’ll buy you all the pretty little underthings your heart desires, but these are mine now.” With those words, the tip of his finger elongates into a claw. He flicks his wrist, cutting the lace from my body, and brings it to his face as he closes his eyes and inhales.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, the embarrassment trying to weasel it's way back in.

“The scent of your need for me is...” His eyes open wide, and I can feel the heat radiating from them as they dart to meet mine. “It’s intoxicating,” he growls, tucking the stolen garment into his back pocket.

I'm completely bare to him. No one has seen me naked for years. My parents stopped helping me bathe over a decade ago. I've always been modest. I thought I would feel more vulnerable than I do in this moment, but all I feel is cherished. How could I feel anything else with the look on his face? He seems to be cataloging every inch of my skin. Committing it all to memory.

When another surge of heat rolls through my body, he's not even touching me when I cry out. It immediately shakes him from his thoughts and brings him back to me. He's tracing all the same pathways he did before he touched me the first time, but now, instead of being lust drunk to his kiss, I want to watch. I want to see how he touches me while I feel it. So I prop myself up on my elbows as he reaches where my panty line used to lay.

He stops again, making eye contact and silently begging for permission, and fuck if I don't love him for respecting my earlier established boundaries.

Do I love him?The thought causes me to release another moan.Even if I do, I'm not ready to tell him,but I hope he can see in my eyes what I'm not ready to admit.

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