Page 54 of Glitter Rose
“Fuck.” He freezes inside me, buried to the hilt. “Paris. Look at me.”
I force my eyes open, unaware I’d squeezed them shut. His face hovers above mine, etched with concern, and his thumb brushes a tear from the corner of my eye.
The intimacy of his gaze is almost too much to bear. I feel exposed, vulnerable—seen.
“I’m okay.” I take a shuddering breath, willing my body to relax around his invasion. “Just…”
He peppers kisses across my face, my neck, my shoulders, his hands stroking my sides, my breasts, everywhere but where we’re joined. “You’re doing so good.”
Slowly, the pain recedes, replaced by a strange fullness that’s not quite pleasure but no longer agony.
I flex my hips experimentally, and gasp.
“Better?” He watches my face for cues.
I nod. “Move. Slow.”
He withdraws before delving back in, the friction sending sparks of something new and fucking good through mynerves. Again and again. Each thrust gentler than I expected from a man who could crush my heart in seconds.
“You feel—” His words dissolve into a groan as I tighten around him. “Fuck, princess.”
The pain fades completely, replaced by waves of pleasure that build with each snap of his hips. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle, taking him deeper, and oh god—he hits something inside me that makes my insides scream.
“Do that again,” I pant.
“There?” He grins against my skin, repeating the motion that made me cry out. “Found it.”
He picks up the pace, driving into that spot with more force, and I’m dissolving into tiny little pieces, my body trying to keep them together. My nails rake down his back, leaving marks I hope will stay for days, proof that this was real.
“Turn over.” He slips out of me. “On your stomach.”
I comply, nerves fluttering with anticipation as he places a pillow beneath my hips, raising my ass. His hand strokes down my spine, appreciative, possessive, before he positions himself at my entrance again.
The first thrust in this new position drives the air from my lungs. He feels impossibly deeper, hitting places inside me I never knew existed. One of his hands tangles in my hair, coaxing me to arch my neck back, while the other clutches my hip.
“So fucking perfect.” He punctuates each word with a thrust. “Taking me so well.”
His pace increases, each stroke harder than the last, and I bury my face in the cushions, muffling the embarrassing noises escaping my throat.
“Not happening. Let me hear you, princess.” Knox tugs my hair again. “Want to know how good I’m making you feel.”
I gasp as he drives into me again. “Asshole.”
He chuckles, wedging his hand between the pillow and my clit, his fingers playing with the bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts.
“Knox,” I whimper, the pressure winding tighter. “Something’s happening?—”
“I know.” His voice is rough against my ear. “Show me.”
My mind goes blank, and my body takes over, clenching around him as pleasure radiates outward in pulses. It's like my body stopped fighting to hold the pieces together and let them scatter completely before rebuilding all at once.
Nothing in my limited experience—not my own fumbling attempts at pleasure, not the romance novels hidden under my bed—prepared me for this. For him. For what it would feel like to be completely undone by someone else.
This total surrender, this complete obliteration of self.
Not even Knox fingering me.
“That’s it.” His rhythm falters. “Good girl.”
