Page 42 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
"I've been keeping walls up," I tell him, needing him to understand this isn't just physical want driving me. "Between us, around my heart. I thought it would protect me from getting hurt again."
My fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, clumsy with urgency but determined. The fabric parts under my touch, revealing the broad expanse of his chest covered in that warm brown fur. Scars from his years at sea mark his skin—rope burns along his forearms, a thin line across his ribs from some long-ago accident.
"But I'm tired of protecting myself," I continue, my palms splaying against his chest to feel the rapid beating of his heart. "I'm going to lose out on everything good if I keep hiding behind fear."
His hands cover mine, stilling my movements for a moment as he looks down at me with something approaching awe.
"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice rougher than usual. "Because once we cross this line, there's no going back. I won't be able to pretend I don't love you, don't want you, don't need you in my life."
"I don't want to go back," I tell him honestly. "I care about you, Dae. So much it scares me sometimes. But I'm ready to let you all the way in."
Something shifts in his expression then, the last of his careful restraint melting away. When he kisses me again, it's with a passion that steals my breath and sets my blood on fire. His hands move to the hem of my nightgown, pausing just long enough for me to nod before he lifts it over my head.
The cool air hits my skin, but before I can feel self-conscious, Daegan's mouth is at my throat, pressing soft kisses along my pulse point. His hands map my body with reverent touches, like he's memorizing every curve and hollow.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against my collarbone, his voice full of wonder. "So damn beautiful."
I help him out of his shirt, running my hands over the broad planes of his back, feeling the play of muscle under fur-covered skin. He's magnificent—all power and strength tempered by the gentleness he shows when he touches me.
When his mouth finds mine again, I arch up against him, wanting to eliminate every inch of space between us. This is what I've been denying myself—this connection, this intimacy, this feeling of being completely alive and present in my own skin.
"I never thought I could have this again," I whisper against his lips, my hands threading through his hair. "
"You can have whatever you want," he tells me, his forehead resting against mine. "Everything you want. I'll give you whatever I can."
His hands worship my body with touches that are both reverent and possessive, like he can't quite believe I'm real andhere and choosing him. When his mouth follows the path his hands have traced, I lose myself in sensation, in the feeling of being cherished and desired and completely, thoroughly loved.
I'm tired of grief defining my life, tired of loss casting shadows over every moment of potential joy. Tonight I want to remember what it feels like to be happy, to be whole, to be exactly where I belong.
And with Daegan's arms around me and his whispered endearments in my ear, I finally feel ready to let myself be exactly that.
My hands move to the waistband of his trousers, fingers trembling slightly as I work at the fastenings. Daegan's breath catches as I push the fabric down over his hips, and when he springs free, I can't help the soft gasp that escapes me.
He's magnificent. Thick and long and perfectly proportioned to match the rest of his massive frame. I've never seen anything quite like him—the ruddy tip already glistening, the impressive girth that makes my core clench with anticipation and just a hint of nervousness.
"Soreya," he says softly, noticing how I've gone still, my eyes fixed on him. "We don't have to?—"
"I want to," I interrupt, my voice breathier than I intended. My fingers wrap around him, marveling at the velvet-soft skin over steel hardness, the way he throbs under my touch. "I want this. I want you."
His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a low groan rumbling from his chest as I explore him with gentle strokes. When he opens them again, the sea-glass green has gone dark with desire.
"You're sure?" he asks, his voice strained. "Because once I'm inside you, I won't want to stop. I've been thinking about this, about you, for weeks now."
The raw honesty in his confession sends heat spiraling through me. I guide him toward me, positioning him at myentrance where I'm already slick and ready for him. The blunt head of his cock presses against me, and I have to bite back a moan at just that small contact.
"No more walls," I whisper, echoing my earlier words. "I don't want anything between us anymore."
He braces himself above me, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other cups my face with infinite tenderness. When he starts to push forward, the stretch is immediate and intense. He's so much bigger than I expected, bigger than anyone I've ever been with, and my body needs time to adjust.
"Breathe," he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough with restraint. "Just breathe for me, sweetheart. Let your body get used to me."
I focus on the steady rhythm of my breathing, on the way his thumb strokes across my cheekbone, on the careful control he's maintaining even though I can feel how much he wants to claim me completely. He pushes in another inch, and I gasp at the delicious pressure.
"That's it," he encourages, pressing soft kisses to my temple. "You're doing so good. Taking me so perfectly."
The praise makes me clench around him, and he swears softly under his breath. I love that I can affect him like this, that this powerful man is barely holding himself together because of me.
"More," I whisper, my nails digging into his shoulders. "I can take more."
