Page 47 of Magic in My Bones

Feeling daring, I let my fingers dip just beneath the waistband of his trousers, skimming along the sensitive skin there.

Dorian made an approving noise, his hands tightening on my hips. “Yes, just like that,” he breathed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. I let my fingers trace along the edge of his waistband, marveling at the contrast between the smooth fabric and his heated skin.

With a sinuous roll of his body, Dorian captured my hand in his and guided it slowly up his chest, letting me feel the lean, hard planes of his abdomen, the curves of his pectoral muscles. My breath hitched as he dragged our joined hands over his nipple, showing me how he liked to be touched.

“You can be rougher if you’d like,” he murmured, his voice a low purr in my ear. “I like a little pain with my pleasure.” He punctuated his words by nipping at my earlobe, making me gasp.

I swallowed. “But what if I—”

“I promise you there is nothing in this world that you could do right now to make me not want you, Ren.”

I followed his lead, my fingers trembling slightly as I pinched his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, rolling the hardened nub between my fingers. Dorian groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against mine. The deep, needy sound spurred me on, and with more confidence, I let my other hand join in, exploring the contours of his torso, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

Dorian’s hand gently caught my wrist. “Ren,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with desire. “Are you okay to keep going?”

The tenderness in his words grounded me, and I nodded quickly. “I’m okay,” I whispered, my breath shallow, my bodyhumming with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. I wanted more. More of him.

“Good,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, the words carrying a hint of mischief. “Would you like to see more of me?” His voice was wicked, full of temptation, and it made my toes curl with anticipation.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. Dorian watched me through hooded eyes, his breathing growing heavier with each inch of skin I revealed.

When the last button slipped free, I pushed the fabric aside, letting it pool around his elbows. I swallowed hard, taking in the sight of Dorian's bare chest. He was lean and sculpted, with a light dusting of dark red hair trailing down his sternum and over the firm planes of his stomach. His skin was smooth and warm under my tentative touch, the muscles jumping slightly as I explored.

“You're beautiful,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. A faint blush crept up Dorian's neck at the compliment, and he caught my hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to my palm.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, guiding my hand back to his chest. “I want to feel your hands on my skin.”

With his encouragement, I let my fingers comb through the soft hair on his chest, marveling at the texture. I traced the line of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse jump beneath my touch. Slowly, I worked my way down, circling his nipples with the pads of my fingers until they pebbled and hardened.

Dorian's breathy moan spurred me on, making my own arousal throb insistently between my legs. I could feel the ache of desire, the slick wetness gathering at my core. It was still sonew, so overwhelming, to want someone this much, to feel my body responding so eagerly to every touch and caress.

I let my hands roam lower, over the ridges of Dorian's abs, feeling them contract under my curious fingers. When I reached the waistband of his trousers, I paused, my heart hammering against my ribs. Dorian's hips canted up slightly, a silent plea, and I could see the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric.

Spurred on by his response, by the fire in my own veins, I cupped him through his trousers, feeling the hot, hard length of him against my palm. Dorian groaned, his head falling back against the couch cushions, exposing the long column of his throat.

“Ren,” he breathed, my name sounding like a prayer on his lips. “That feels so good...”

Pride and excitement mingled in my chest, making me dizzy. I was doing this to him, making him feel this way. Me, awkward, uncertain Ren, reducing the poised and perfect Dorian Crowe to a panting, needy mess.

Something shifted in me then, a flicker of confidence, of boldness I hadn't known I possessed. With a surge of daring, I increased the pressure of my hand, rubbing my palm along the rigid length of Dorian's arousal. He let out a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into my touch, seeking more friction.

As Dorian’s breath quickened, I found myself becoming more attuned to the rhythm of his reactions, the way his body responded to my touch. My heart raced in my chest, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling inside me. I’d never felt this way before.

His hands gripped my wrist, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of my inner forearm, grounding me in the moment. “Ren,” he gasped, his voice strained, “you’re driving me mad...”

His vulnerability, the way he was letting me in, opened something inside me. Something I hadn’t realized I needed to hear, that I could affect him this way, too.

I hesitated for a second, my breath shallow as I took in the sight of him: his flushed face, lips parted in pleasure, the muscles of his throat flexing with every ragged breath. I wanted to give him more, to push further, but something held me back, a quiet reminder of how new this all was, how much I was still figuring out.

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and heavy with desire. “Are you okay?” Dorian’s voice was soft but with a hint of concern, like he was checking in with me, making sure I wasn’t lost in the heat of the moment.

I nodded, my hand still pressed against him, but I could feel a slight tremble in my fingers. “Yeah,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice, thick with wanting. “I’m okay. I want this.”

Dorian’s lips curved into a soft, almost relieved smile, his hands reaching for my face, cupping my cheeks gently. “You’re sure? We can slow down if you need to.”

There was something in the way he seemed so attuned to me, so patient that made my chest tighten. I knew I could trust him, that I didn’t have to rush, that I could take it at my own pace.

I leaned into his touch, giving him a reassuring smile, my breath still shaky but my heart more certain than before. “I want to keep going.”

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