Page 98 of Catch the Sun

We’re both inexperienced, but inexperience means nothing when you’re fueled by need. Guided by raw feeling. Everything feels right. Every touch, every new discovery, makes sense. Hands simply know where to go and limbs tangle accordingly, while lips and tongues dance in an age-old rhythm.

I slide my hand inside the waistband of her shorts and stroke the damp piece of fabric between her legs.

She cries out.

My other hand whips out to cover her mouth, to hold back the shriek that will have my brother or father barreling into the room, destroying the moment. And that will destroyme. I will absolutely drop dead if Ella is forced from my bed before I can make her come.

Her eyes pop over my hand when I slip my fingers into her underwear. She moans helplessly against my hand before I slowly pull my palm back and drop my forehead to hers.

I close my eyes through a low groan as my finger dips inside of her and starts to pump, in and out. Silken warmth tears through me. Velvet fire. Our faces are centimeters apart on my pillow and her warm breaths beat against my lips as little whimpers catch in her throat. My finger is slick, and I insert one more as the curl of her leg tightens around my waist.

When the heel of my palm grinds against her, she bucks against me. “Oh God…” she husks, her fingernails digging into my bare arms. “Max.”

“I’ve got you. I’m here.” I open my eyes to watch her unravel. “Hold on to me. Let it go.”

She squeezes me tighter. “I… That feels…”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” I swallow, my boxers tight and smothering. “Youlike it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes…Max…” Her lips are parted, cheeks flushed pink. “It feels so good.”

I lean in to kiss her, mouth open and tongue hungry. She kisses me back with the same urgency, both of us moaning and grinding and feeling fuckingeverything. “I have condoms in my nightstand,” I murmur, pressing our foreheads back together.

She manages to shake her head. “This…this is good.”

My hand picks up speed, two fingers filling her deep, curling into her, angling higher. I thrust hard.

That’s when she freezes on a small yelp.

I pull my face away from hers, my eyes flaring. “Did I hurt you?”

Her jaw clenches but she shakes her head. “I’m okay… Keep going.”

“Ella.” My fingers begin to retreat, but she snatches my wrist to keep me there. To keep me inside of her.

“Please don’t stop.”

Indecision grips me…untilshegrips me.

Ella slides her hand beneath the covers and inches her fingers inside the waistband of my boxers.

“Fuck,” I curse, my head rearing back through the wave of pleasure snaking up my spine.

She strokes me. Up and down, her fingers firm.

I keep fingering her, keep grinding my hand against her.

Furious, desperate, both of us on the edge.

I yank my boxers down my hips, sliding them midthigh until I’m freed from the constraints, giving her better access. I’m shameless as I ride her hand and she rides mine. Heat unfurls. Tingles bloom and climb. The mattress creaks as the headboard lightly taps the wall. Ella grinds against me, the slippery sound of my fingers pumping in and out of her echoing through the still room.

My tongue is in her mouth again, messy, clumsy, spurred by rampant need.

She tenses when my hand finds the perfect rhythm, her mewls and whimpers pouring into my open mouth. Her eyes slam shut. Her hand jerks around meas she comes undone.

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