Page 112 of Stay for Me

Slowly, oh so damn slowly, my woman placed her hands on my chest. The softness of her hands shot directly down to my already aching cock, her honey still on my tongue, her cries still ringing in my ears. I watched with a strained patience as she took her time, dragging her soft fingertips down my chest, my abs, then back up, both hands going to my scar.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered.

“I get phantom pains sometimes,” I told her, my voice soft. “I can feel a sting, and it feels so real, I wake up thinking I’m still in the damn hospital bed.”

A small crease appeared between her brows then. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t reply, my focus only on her touch skating over my burn. When her fingers brushed over my damaged nipple, a grunt crawled up my throat.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked in a rush, pulling her hands from me.

I grabbed her wrists and put her hands back. Her eyes shot up to mine, waiting for me to push her away.

I was done pushing her away.

I was done denying my need for her, my love for her.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, my voice cracking.

Over the next few minutes, I watched her hands moved over me slowly, over my scars, down my arms and back up, over my collarbone. Her fingers stretched through my beard and along my jaw, over my ears and into my hair again. She rose up higher, her eyes now holding mine as she pressed her skin to me, a needy groan leaving my throat.

“Fuck,” I snarled, hooking my hand to the back of her head and crushing her lips to mine. As I drank from her sweet mouth, her hands dropped back down, trailing south, not stopping until she reached the waist band of my jeans, her baby blue nails tracing over the top of my boxers. My abs constricted as I pressed my hips into her, letting her feel me. My tongue commanded hers as she whimpered, my fingers sinking into her wet, honey blonde hair.

As she gasped, I nibbled her bottom lip, my free hand finding one of her wrists, guiding her.

“Touch your man, beautiful,” I commanded, shoving her hand down. When her fingers wrapped around my cock, my head fell back, her name spilling from my lips. “Fuck, yes.”

She moaned when I shoved the rest of my clothes to my hips, my cock finally free, already addicted to her touch. We both looked down then, my ears savoring the sound of her little noises, knowing she saw it—the small silver ball at the tip of my cock.

“Mags, what is—”

My fingers found her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “A piercing,” I answered on growl, my hips moving slowly as I fucked her hand. Those hazel eyes widened, but she didn’t stop stroking me. “That’s it,” I praised, my other hand going to cup her breast, feeling the weight of it, loving it.

“When did you get this?” she asked, staring at my cock.

“When I was twenty-one,” I answered. “On a dare.”

Diana’s eyes met mine again. “A dare?” she parroted softly, still pumping me.

I bit down, grinding my teeth, the base of my spine tingling.“Fuck.”

Her thumb swiped over my piercing at the same time my finger brushed over her nipple, her gasp louder than my groan. “You want me?” I clipped, holding her hazel eyes, getting lost in them. I didn’t give a shit about the dare anymore. I wanted to be inside her.

“Yes,” she panted, her eyes hooded as her other hand dropped to cup my balls.

I nearly let go then. “Jesus fuck, you drive me insane,” I bit off.

My hands were underneath her arms within the next second, throwing her back onto the mattress. She didn’t have a chance to protest before I was over her, my hands on either side of her head as I held my hips away from hers, my hard cock hanging between us.

Diana, my sweet firefly, stared up at me now, eyes wide, chest heaving with anticipated pants, her hair spread all over my pillow. Slowly, she opened her legs, curling them slightly as I looked down, watching it all. The tip of my cock hovered over her pussy, inches away from pleasure.

“M-Mags?” she breathed.

I looked back to her face, finding her trembling now. We were about to cross a line; one we would never be able to draw again. “What is it?” I whispered, my thumb stroking her temple.

“I haven’t—I don’t—” She paused, looking away from me. I waited, suspended over her in fear, knowing if she didn’t want this—want me—I would never be able to recover.

“Firefly,” I pressed, voice jagged and weak.

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