Page 13 of Mated to the Pride

I pulled my shirt over my head, hair already a little messy in my ponytail. I wished I had worn more exciting underwear today, but Preston didn’t seem to mind. His eyes darkened as he sank down to the bed, filling my chest with power and pride as he drank in the sight of my near-bare chest.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’ve barely seen me,” I insisted, feeling a blush spread down my chest and to my thighs. He slid a hand over my leg and my stomach; I swallowed hard, trying to be patient but eager for the pressure of his hand between my legs.

“I’ve seen enough to know,” he said.

“You’ve seen enough?”

He realized his mistake. “Uh… no. Definitely not.”

I grinned, appreciating the way his brain seemed to stall. Was I reallythatattractive? I’d never felt particularly ugly, but right now I felt like a goddess. Like I somehow matched the way he made me feel.

But that couldn’t possibly be true. Could it?

“Can I…?” His fingertips strayed to the front of my pants.

“Yes.”

Every gesture was careful. When he leaned close to kiss me again, catching my lips like I’d starved him of my touch for hours, I knew exactly how he felt. My body was practically aching with the desperation. Whether his hands were slow out of shyness or respect, I couldn’t wait much longer.

“Preston, I…please.”

He pulled back, eyes roving over me — catching on the strip of see-through lace at the waistband of my panties. It drove me wild to see him look at me like that. I teased my hand through the stripe of premature silver in his hair, and groaned as he leaned in to plant a soft kiss over the fabric between my legs.

“Preston,” I begged.

“Sorry,” he said, nuzzling his face into my thigh. “You’re just… wow. You’re a lot to look at.” With an apologetic grin, he shuffled back up the bed to wrap his arm around me and kiss me again, letting me wrap one leg around him. I could feel his hard cock straining for me.

“This isn’t too fast for you?”

“God, no,” I said — and it was true. I’d never moved so quickly before in my life, but I’d also never been so sure. I didn’t feel vulnerable in the arms of this strong soldier, even knowing how easily he could snap me in half. I didn’t feel shy or degraded at the thought of his eyes on my naked body. Even as he unclasped my bra and swallowed as it fell away, entranced by the sight of me, I could only read desire in his eyes. There was nothing holding me back, and only snowballing desire pushing me forward.

He gave me his hand first, his fingers arched and breathtakingly gentle as he lifted the fabric at my crotch aside. Every time his flickering touch increased, I thought I might lose myself then and there, before he even filled me — but then his touch would lighten again, and pull back, and lower me to a desperate, melting simmer. By the time he finally reached up to slip my panties down, lifting my leg up high on his hip, I was barely coherent.

“You tell me how you want it,” he murmured, his forehead pressed to mine. “Don’t let me hurt you.”

I’d rather that than wait a second longer, I thought. Instead, I said, “Yes. Just… yes.”

I’d never been so ready without lubricant. When he slipped inside me, hot and tight and willingly eager, I gasped and arched into him, feeling exactly how deep his cock curled inside me. He gave me a couple of slow, gentle moments to adjust, rolling his hips to let me feel the shape of him — then, careful and strong still, he shifted me onto my back and kissed the breathlessness out of me.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again. Then he thrust into me, still slow enough to feel every electric sensation. He slipped a hand between us to tease at my stomach, my nipple, my clit — I lost track of his fingertips in the shared body heat and the way his cock felt, driving all sensible thought out of my mind.

It was incredible to be had like this — gentle like a long-term lover, but with all the spontaneity and excitement of a first time. He had me shuddering to a prickly-hot climax within minutes. Then another — and once he finally came in me, deep and groaning and handsome as in old Hollywood despite the tattoos and the piercings, he didn’t get up yet. He pulled out and lay close to me, sharing my breath as that slick, talented hand worked me to one last mounting, desperate orgasm, my hand gripping death-tight at his hard-working arm.

I felt his fond, soft kisses. I knew that I was curling up against him, dizzy with heat and exhaustion. Then I lost track and fell asleep in the comfort of his arms and the scent of his hair.

It wasn’t just the way he loved me that felt familiar. Everything that filled my senses was like a husband I’d forgotten about — some lover from a parallel world that I’d never met before. I knew the feel of his skin on mine, and his heartbeat; the sound of his sighs, and the taste of his lips as he kissed me back awake.

“You okay?” he asked. “Seemed like I tired you out there.”

“You did,” I admitted, suddenly a little shy now that I was out of the eye of the storm. “That was… wow.Wow, Preston.”

He smiled. I saw shyness in him too, and it steeled me. When he leaned to kiss me again, catching my lips in another sweet kiss, I felt a little more assured.

This was right. It justwas, somehow.

We dressed slowly, showered separately, and somehow got back to our day. If he was a little more touchy with me, then that was only a pleasant thing — and I had to bat his hands away every time I started cleaning something away, as though he felt awkward about letting me do my job now that we were newly intimate. For as normal as it felt between us, though, we didn’t have any discussions about it.

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