Page 103 of Things We Burn

“Kane,” I whimpered. That was all I was able to get out before I broke apart, under nothing but his deft fingers, lips at my neck, body behind mine, warm, safe, hard.

My orgasms with him had been intense, always earth-shattering. But whether it was from the long absence, the intense emotions between us or the sensitivity of my bodyfrom pregnancy, I’d never weathered my body’s reaction to this extent. Nerve endings I didn’t know I had exploded in pleasure.

I was still shuddering with aftershocks moments later. Kane’s mouth was still at my neck as I tried to catch my breath.

“Now you’re warmed up,” he murmured, his hands returning to my panties.

Though I was still delirious from the orgasm, I was ready to move to help him take them off. I was desperate for it.

That orgasm had done nothing but taken the edge off. I needed more. Needed him.

Kane was obviously as desperate as I was, because instead of rolling my panties down my legs, he ripped them apart.

Though we’d been plenty desperate for each other in the past, he’d never done that.

“This okay, Chef?” He angled me so I was lying on my side, leg cocked up to accommodate him, his hard length perched against my opening.

His body was pressed into my back.

“Yes,” I hissed, bucking back to try to get him inside.

Though I could feel his need, taste it, he stayed there.

His lips traced my ear. “If it gets to be too much, if it hurts, you tell me right away.”

He was worried. About me. About hurting me.

“I will. Now, please, Kane.” I backed up against him again.

“Like that, Chef,” he let out a low growl. “Hearing you beg for my cock. I’ve got half a mind to make you do it a little longer, but I need you. Need to fuckin’ drown in you.”

And before I could respond, he thrust inside.

I let out a muffled cry of pleasure and relief as he filled me. The angle was perfect, my body so sensitive I could feel every inch of him.

Once he was fully inside, he didn’t move.

“This okay?” he asked, voice strained.

“Yes,” I groaned. “Move. Please.”

At my plea, he began moving. Gently at first.

It was nice, impossibly so, but I didn’t want gentle.

“Harder,” I demanded.

“Chef—”

“Harder,” I commanded. “You won’t hurt me, I promise. I won’t break.”

I didn’t say you couldn’t break what was already broken. I didn’t say he’d be putting pieces of me back together. That was far too introspective at that moment.

I’d anticipated him arguing the point further, but his control broke, thrusting faster, harder.

I could’ve burst into tears at the relief I got from it, my body coming apart at the seams. His hands cupped my breasts, letting out a low hiss once he discovered how much bigger they were.

I made a sound between a moan and muffled scream as he tweaked my nipple through his shirt.

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