Page 136 of Be My Compass

She smiles at me.

And then she screams.

And then she writhes.

And my name drips from her lips, caresses her chest down to her hips and falls into my ears. To my mouth that’s open over the taste of her.

She collapses and I envelop her.

Push her.

Take her.

Own her.

And, when I’ve coated her body in my scent and pushed her to the brink only to pull her back up, I crawl over her gorgeous body and growl in her ear, “Again.”

Thirty-One

Kaelyn

Falling in love with Kastle was a constant dance of restraint. I couldn’t let it show. Couldn’t let him know. I would touch him but not too much. Not too hard. Not too sensually. I would look at him. Admire him. But always pull back.

Just enough.

Just to the point that he couldn’t see the truth in my eyes. In my heart. In my soul.

Because of that, I expected his touch to feel muted. To carry the wisps of moderation. That tentative attempt to hold back. To withdraw. To tie up the full brunt of want and need and passion. To keep it away from the surface so it doesn’t spill over.

I’m good at that. Restraint. I fell into restraint when I fell in love with him.

It’s why I offered to pretend. Why I figured it would be alright if we just acted like our kisses and our touch meant nothing. I wanted to fake it, but I ended up choking on my bravado and tripping over my own desire.

Kastle held none of my fears. He saw the possibility of who we were and who we could be. He saw it later than me, but he submitted to it with far less resistance.

Again, he said.

There’s more.

More.

Which led us here.

To a bedroom filled with shadows that flicker and dance.

To music that sounds like Kastle’s groans and my soft, urgent whimpers.

To tears in my eyes. To lips that widen and stretch.

To tastes that are new and sweet and salty and unfamiliar.

Has my voice ever been this shredded? This hoarse? Have I ever called a name as desperately? Has a man’s taste ever—

My knees hurt in the most delicious way. Kastle pulses through my mouth. Through my mind. He sweeps through my lungs. My stomach. Ignites a ravenous hunger in me. Until I feast. Until I’m soaked in it.

Then I’m back on the bed.

My bones shrink, fold up, bend, and arch. I’m made of wax and held together with desire. It’s the only explanation for the way my back cranes off the mattress like that. The way my spine flips and contracts. The way my body melts.

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