Page 590 of Not Over You

It’s all I am. Feelings. A body that’s been turned inside out and has never felt this side of the world before. But I’m completely cut off from everything but him.

I don’t even blink when my back hits the wall. We’ve moved from the center of the kitchen, each step measured by lips and hands, toward my room. He lifts me off my feet, but I shake my head, pointing down the hall. The last room. A room that doesn’t get used because everyone believes it’s haunted. It’s clean but filled with boxes. But I’d rather deal with left-behind memories than all those Fausti eyes on Ava’s wall staring at me.

The things Janis left behind are stored in there, but cold memories can’t touch me tonight. Not with fire in my blood, even if my skin feels cold. Anxious.

A bright moon paints the dark room silver. We’ve turned into those shadows.

He shuts the door, locking it behind him. He sets me down on the bed, then comes to stand between my legs. He says nothing, but I know what he’s silently asking me. My hand drifts underneath his shirt. His stomach is a hard mass of muscle beneath the softness of my palm. Touching him feels like caressing warm stone. Two deep indentions in a V shape are carved out, and I feel his skin contract as I unbutton his jeans.

Grabbing the back of his t-shirt, he pulls it over his head, messing up his hair, and throws it to the floor. The light breaks from behind him, but it only makes his features seem even darker. More dangerous. I lay back a bit on the bed, opening my legs some to give him room to finish undressing.

I’m still in this. With him. It’s my first time. He knows it. I told him that I was a virgin. His response was, “I don’t have to kill anyone then.” From most people, it would be a joke. Not from him.

His boots come off next. His socks. His jeans. His boxers. Then he’s standing naked in front of me.

He’s gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous that I can’t stop staring at him. I lick my lips, because his scent lingers in the air, and I crave to taste his skin. I crave to touch him. To wrap my hand around his dick and feel how hard it is. It seems as rock solid as his muscles. But it’s jutting out, like a huge weapon, and his balls seem swollen. I don’t think they are, though. He’s just big—all over.

“Lucila,” he says, his voice gruff.

My eyes rise to meet his, but close when he starts to undress me. I’m not being shy. I’m…overwhelmed by his touch. By how rough his hands are, but how amazing they feel when they caress my skin. He’s moving slow, like he’s unwrapping me. Like he doesn’t want to tear into me and accidentally break something below the surface.

It’s the opposite of how my body feels. My heart is pounding hard in my chest, in my ears, and I think it’s the only reason I can’t hear the rushing of my blood. I can feel it, though. It’s hot. But I’m almost shivering. A pulse between my legs aches. I can feel how wet I am already. It’s like my body is preparing for him to break me. Because he is, in a way. He’s going to make me bleed.

Tonight, though, I refuse to turn this off. To separate from it. From him. There’s something monumental about me giving this to him. About me bleeding for him. It seems…symbolic.

“So beautiful,” he says, taking in my naked body. The light hits me directly, and he has a better view of me than I have of him. But from what I can see, his eyes look drunk. They’re hooded to almost slits. He releases my hair from the ponytail, and it falls around me. As wild as I’m sure my heart feels.

His hand slides up my neck, into my hair, and then he kisses me. He kisses me until we’re both on the bed, in the center of it. My skin is pressed against his. I’ve never felt anything like it. Combined with the kiss, noises escape my lips that I’ve never made before. Whimpers here and there, but these are coming from a starved place. It’s like when people say food can be orgasmic. I’ve experienced that before, but this? Never.

My back is to the bed, and he's next to me, but his mouth and hands are exploring my body. It’s like he's memorizing every curve through touch. I’m arching into it. Because it feels so good. And I need more. It’s a rush my body is begging for.

His mouth moves lower, between my breasts. The stubble on his face is rough, and so are his hands, which contrast with the way he’s moving. He’s teasing me. He’s marking me. But in places only I can see. He’s sucking, bringing the blood to the surface of my skin. His hand barely moves over my stomach, and it makes me shiver.

I’m almost sinking my nails into his arms when his mouth comes close to my nipple. One. Then the other. His tongue makes a path from one to the other when he’s not sucking. He circles, going around and around, and when I make an incoherent noise, he takes one into his mouth. I almost buck up from the sensation. Because when he does, his hand moves lower and grips my thigh.

“Oh God,” I say, my eyes rolling.

He’s only done this much, and I’m already coming apart. My entire body feels like a live wire, each touch sending shocks throughout my entire system. The pulse between my legs? It seems to be the center of it. It’s throbbing, and I need him to do something about it. I would even beg.

Maybe he notices the look on my face. Or he feels the eagerness through his touch, because as he starts to kiss and suck his way down my body, he whispers, “You never have to beg me for anything, baby. Tell me what you want. And it’s yours.”

“You,” I say, my voice breathless.

“You already have me,” he says. “Tell me what you want from me.”

“This,” I say.

“Do you like this?” He slows his words as his lips still on my navel. His warm breath fans over me and my skin contracts. The light of the moon highlights all he’s doing to me.

I look down and he looks up. He groans and I whimper.

“This feels so good.”

“You love that I’m worshiping your body?”

“Yes,” I breathe out.

“What am I worshiping your body with?”

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