Page 118 of The Reluctant Hero

It isn’t the slow seduction I would expect from him based on his kisses. This is a raw need that wants to be fed. No waiting. I’ve waited long enough as it is.

I fumble to kick my shoes off and work on my jeans. The sound of his zipper rasping comes as I work the denim over my hips, taking my panties with them.

This feels more like two teens sneaking a quicky in before they get caught.

“The door,” I hiss with wide eyes.

“Locked,” he’s staring at the juncture of my thighs, his motions more uncoordinated as he shucks his pants, realizes he still has his shoes on, and lets out a grunt of frustration.

That stare of absolute longing has my thighs parting hesitantly. Especially now that I can see his erection so clearly. The strong length of it and trimmed dark hair is somehow more erotic because he isn’t fully undressed.

He’s on me in seconds, not bothering with his shirt any more than I bothered with mine. His chest lands on mine, forcing some air out of my lungs before he braces himself up with a hand. He grabs a knee and pulls until my foot drops onto the floor. Making room for his hips to settle in the opening.

Fingers delve through my curls with a speed that’s indecent. Everything about it is rushed and frantic.

“Wet already,” he closes his eyes in relief and circles around my opening to spread the moisture over me. The heated feel of his elegant fingers has me groaning already.

His hand disappears, and he positions himself without hesitation. His eyes meet mine as if he’s asking permission when we’ve gone so far already. I can feel him at my entrance, barely pressing in. I want him. What is he waiting for? I tilt my hips up in invitation.

I’m expecting a frenzied rush to an orgasm. We’ve been teasing each other with verbal barbs for weeks now. The kiss yesterday was instant chemistry that exploded in my face.

Instead, he invades me with a slow, unhurried pace that makes my breathing rough. His heat. He’s hard enough to bruise me. I’ve never felt so delicate before. He rocks into me one tiny increment at a time. My body is taught. I’m getting so wet his strokes are becoming easier, less invasive. A pulse starts in my clit that makes me moan.

He shifts the angle until his cock is rubbing along my clit insistently. He’s halfway inside when I cum. A heavy thrum of feeling, stronger than I’ve ever felt before. My back arches, and a hand reflexively goes to his hair so I can hold on to him. The other clutches at his ribs desperately. I can’t move very well in this position. I want to buck, to take him inside me fully. I’m stuck being fed half his length in a taunt that is perfectlyhim.

My eyes open as the pulse of it echoes through me. He’s right there, watching me as if he’s memorizing my face.

His expression is strained, his jaw clenched. When he starts moving again in that slow tease, the angle not allowing the steady pressure against my clit, I try to force him deeper. His hand drops to my hip to keep me still so I use the other leg to wrap around his waist and pull him to me.

“Gabe,” I mean to sound stern, but his name is weak when it escapes.

His thrusts get heavier. The invasion taking over every nerve below. I’m so wet, and he’s taking his time as if he’ssavoring the sensation. My nails dig into his side, and then he’s fully seated inside me.

We’ve gone from rushing like teens to a slow, torturous roll of his hips that takes him almost all the way out of me, leaving me clutching him to come back. A heavy thrust forward to slap against me. A jolt deep inside that rubs vulnerable nerve endings.

My heart is hammering as I lie still to take him. He finally relents and takes his hand away, letting me bring my foot up to gain more leverage to move. One of his arms goes under my head to brace him up and shift me to stare into his heavy-lidded eyes. He grips my wrist and moves my arm up above my head. His fingers thread through mine and hold tightly.

I can see a thousand thoughts running through his head. The man never switches off. Every part of him is under tight control. He’s watching my face for any change of expression as if he needs to memorize what moves bring me the most pleasure. Which angles. How heavy can he thrust before it’s too much.

My fingers squeeze over his as another orgasm builds inside. It’s slow but relentless. I’m trying to hold him inside me when he withdraws, my thighs tightening over his waist. He’s panting, his cheeks red, and a drop of sweat falls from his temple to my brow.

“Gabe,” I protest and pull his hair until he’s closer. Unable to focus as much. I start to move my hips in a counter rhythm that’s faster than his. For every single thrust, I force him to give me two. One that works over his head and the other bottoming out inside me.

“Mana-chan,” he grits out. “Be good.”

He’s struggling with himself. His teeth are clenched as he focuses on me. Only on me. Not on himself. As if he didn’t start this for his own release.

I want him with me, not studying me. I want his control gone. I want to see his face when he cums, feel his body shake with the release of tension.

“Let go,” I whisper and lean up to press softer kisses over his lips. His eyes close as he shifts his head, and my lips move over his cheek instead.

“Gabe, please. Just let go with me.”

He buries his face in my neck, his thrusts becoming uneven, rougher. Exactly what we both need. I meet him each time. No matter how slow or deep I cradle him inside.

“Fuck,” I gasp, and my control gets shot to hell. I’m so close and he’s not moving fast enough. I start to writhe under him, cursing and begging at the same time. All I can hear is his heavy breaths and quiet grunts. Still holding on to his control for as long as he can.

It makes me start talking. His quiet pleasure feels like he’s hiding.

---