Page 17 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
Then he pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.
"This isn't a commitment," he said, and it was like a bucket of cold water.
Her body tensed. She tried to step back, but he caught her wrists, holding them gently but firmly above her head.
"I want you so badly," he whispered, his forehead pressed against hers. "While we're together, I won't sleep with anyone else. But I will need to take other women out in public. It's...expected."
She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh, but she didn't speak. Couldn't.
"Please," he murmured urgently. "I will die if I don't have you."
And just like that, something inside her clicked.
Maybe she wanted to be wanted. Maybe she wanted to feel something that wasn't tiredness or silence or being alone.
She let him lift her and carry her to bed. She watched as he undressed, his body tall and lean like a runner, broad-shouldered, with merry brown curls and a body so perfect, it felt unreal. His abdomen was flat and cut, his skin pale against the shadows.
She looked away as a flush climbed her cheeks.
But she still saw him.
He was larger than she'd imagined. Beautiful. Wild.
Then he was on her, his fingers finding her soft folds, teasing and learning her body with slow, deliberate circles. She gasped as he pushed one finger in, then a second joined it.
The pressure was almost painful. Almost too much.
When he finally positioned himself and entered her, she gasped aloud. He froze.
"Shit," he whispered gruffly. "Are you a virgin?"
Her eyes stayed shut as a tear slipped sideways down her temple.
"No," she whispered. "But you're...bigger than I am used to. And it's been a long time."
His dimple flashed, his smile slow and devastating.
He moved gently then, slowly. In and out. There was an embarrassing squelching sound. She was sore, trembling, but on fire.
His fingers returned, finding her again, and then she was flying, clutching the sheets and crying out his name. He followed with a rough cry against her neck.
When he carefully pulled away, she gasped again. Her body was aching and clutched at his flesh, making him gasp with tightly closed eyes. Then he gently pulled out. There were streaks of blood on the condom he tied off without a word. He didn't ask, and she didn't explain. He had dampened a hand towel and gently cleaned her between her legs before he joined her in bed.
Her long, dark hair-wavy and thick, falling almost to her hips-spilled across the pillow like silk. Crispin was fascinated with it, running his hands through it when he thought she was asleep. Later that first night, as she turned beneath him, he reached for it, wrapping the length of it around his hand like a ribbon.
"Never cut this," he whispered roughly as he took her carefully from behind, his breath warm against her neck, his grip possessive. The tension in his voice, the reverence, was what made her crumble.
His fingers returned, finding her sensitive nub again, and then she came apart, clutching the sheets and crying out his name. He followed with a harsh cry, losing himself in her body.
Everything changed after that first night.
He came when he wanted-never cruel, always attentive in bed, insatiable-but the dance was over. The chase had ended, and she hadn't known what to expect afterwards.
She remembered overhearing Dorian, Crispin's best friend, say she was a temporary fling. A café girl. A pretty distraction. A gold-digger.
Dorian, with his golden curls and pitch-dark eyes did it deliberately, so she would overhear.
And Crispin had said nothing.
