Page 88 of Perfect Assumption
A tender smile crosses his face. “You can’t know that yet.”
“Yes, I can.” I nod frantically.
“Tell me how,” he whispers.
“Because it’s you. I trust you, Ward. I know you’ll make it special for me.”
He lays his head against my heart. For long moments, the fire dancing is the only movement. I feel his lips against my skin when he says, “You’re damn right I will.”
Then Ward drifts his hand carefully between my legs to test my readiness. I arch my hips against his hand. I feel hot, swollen, and wet. I rock myself against his hand, intuition and long-ago memories surfacing. Ward pushes in a finger gently, then stills. His finger rotates, making a come-hither motion that almost has me levitating. I cry out.
He snarls, but the fierceness fuels my blood. I grab him and pull him down on top of me. I want to be electrified by him, the weight of his body, the abrasiveness of his chest hair against my nipples. I wrap my legs around him and hold him as close as I can without accepting him into my body.
But soon. I hope.
Finally, he tears his mouth away. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. He slips the condom into his mouth until he can shuck his jeans. He rolls away, and I gawk for a second, wondering how he’s going to fit, when he asks, “Are you sure, Angie?”
Raising my eyes from where his hands are sheathing up his cock, I whisper, “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
He doesn’t smile. Neither do I. I’m mesmerized by the look in his eyes as he prowls over me. Hitching my leg over his hip, he whispers, “Thank you for trusting me with something so beautiful.”
He notches the head of his cock against the core of me. With slow movements, Ward began to move in and out of me. The strain on his face makes me wrap my legs tighter before sliding my hand down his back. “Ward?”
“Don’t!”
I immediately still.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Angel. If I go too fast, I could.” His words are strained.
He pushes deep, and a whimper escapes my throat—not born of pain, but of pleasure. “Ward, please,” I beg.
His pupils dilate. I’m close enough to watch the firelight capture the black eclipsing the brown. “This could hurt,” he warns.
“This is torture,” I plead.
He pushes his hips forward. Where I expected a never-ending snap of pain, it’s so much less and promptly dissipates under the replacement of pleasure that swiftly follows. I moan, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
Ward stills. “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?” His arms are quivering.
“I’m crying because I’m so happy. But, Ward—” I instinctively tighten my arms, my legs, and my internal muscles around him, making him gasp. “Is there more?”
He groans before he shows me there is indeed more.
I urge him closer as he thrusts slowly in and out of me. But it isn’t long before the rhythm of his thrusts changes, turning faster, deeper. My hips rise and fall, guided by one of Ward’s hands holding mine, the other at my hip. My insides begin to tighten, and my head flails from left to right. I don’t know what’s happening to me until Ward’s lips take mine briefly before his voice demands harshly, “Go over.”
And I do. Calling his name, I feel myself explode in my first climax, brought about by my first lover.
Then something beautiful happens.
Ward thrusts hard a few times, and his face twists. He calls out, “Angie!” before he collapses on my chest.
Tears prick my eyes before I start to drift.
Finally, I am whole.
Thirty-Four
Ward
