Page 80 of Manic

Without warning, he surges forward, capturing my lips in a searing kiss.

His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing away my tears as he pours everything he feels into the connection between us.

"I love you," he murmurs against my mouth, punctuating each word with another kiss. "I love you, Meghan. So fucking much."

My heart soars at his declaration, and I respond by deepening the kiss, my fingers tangling in his dark hair.

Despite the aches in my body, a different kind of heat begins to build, a desperate need for him that overshadows everything else.

"I want you," I breathe, tugging him closer.

Tor pulls back slightly, his brow furrowing. "Baby, that's not a good idea. You're hurt, and I don't want to?—"

I cut him off with a growl of frustration. "Shut the hell up and fuck me, Tor."

His eyes darken with desire, but I can still see the hesitation. "Meghan, I?—"

"Please," I whisper, my voice raw with need. "I need to feel you. To know this is real."

Something in my tone must convince him because he nods slowly.

With careful movements, he begins to undress me, his calloused hands surprisingly gentle as they skim over my skin.

I shiver, partly from the cool air and partly from the intensity of his gaze.

As he exposes my breasts, Tor leans down, taking one nipple into his mouth.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through me, momentarily drowning out the lingering pain.

His tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, and I arch into him, craving more.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, trailing kisses across my collarbone. "I don't want to hurt you, baby. Tell me if it's too much."

I shake my head, impatient. "You can't hurt me, Tor. I need you inside me. Now."

He positions himself between my thighs, his impressive length brushing against my entrance.

With agonizing slowness, he begins to push in, watching my face for any signs of discomfort.

The stretch and fullness as he enters me is exquisite, and I moan softly.

But his movements are so careful, so measured, that frustration builds within me once more.

"Tor," I pant, gripping his shoulders. "Please, I'm not made of glass. I want you to make love to me. Really make love to me."

He hesitates for a moment, searching my eyes.

Whatever he sees there must reassure him because he nods, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"As you wish, my love," he says, and then he begins to move, our bodies joining in a dance as old as time itself.

Tor's hips snap forward, driving into me with a force that makes me gasp.

The hesitation from before is gone, replaced by raw passion and need.

His bottle-green eyes lock onto mine, intense and filled with desire.

"Like this?" he growls, setting a punishing rhythm that has me clinging to him.

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