Page 61 of The Refusal

I raise my eyebrows at him, but warmth seeps through me. “That sounds like fun actually.”

I shove the unsettled thoughts to the back of my mind, and he leans down and gently bites my neck. I track a path down his spine with one hand, and he plucks the condom from me, opening it with his teeth. The crown of his brown hair flops forward as he looks down, and I watch the ease with which he handles himself, rolling the rubber down slowly as he sucks in a deep breath. I’ve imagined this situation, but the idea of him being inside me … This morning, I want to feel everything,enjoyeverything. He trails a hand down my stomach, long fingers delving right into my folds, and his eyes jerk up to mine when he finds out how hot and slippery I am.

“Jo.” He groans, pressing and circling my clit with a steady rhythm.

My eyelids start to drift down.

“So hot seeing you put that thing on,” I mumble.

He leans forward, rubbing himself against my folds, pressing and releasing, slipping and sliding, our heads tilted together to watch. My hand digs into his ass again as my gaze flicks up.Ooof.

“Feels amazing,” I gasp.

My fingers land on his stomach, playing with his abs and the curl of hair in the center. I scratch him with my fingernails, watching with fascination as his whole body tightens. God, I could watch this forever.

“Janus,” I can’t get my voice above a harsh whisper, “I’m so turned on just looking. Look. Look at this.”

He grins up at me as I slide an exploring hand down to the base of his cock and my fingers wrap around his balls, gently stroking.

“Yeah?” he says, and just like that he’s slipping lower and finding my entrance; I shift to meet him, both watching as he pushes slowly forward.

I never expected him to be so careful, so keen to give me pleasure. Never thought about the mechanics of why some guys are good at sex, always feeling somehow that my orgasm was my responsibility, my job to get my head in the right place. But Janus isn’t like that at all. He’s so focused on me, so unconcerned about his own satisfaction. And I’m small with small parts, so I’m not the kind of girl that gets so wet the sliding in part is easy, but oh my God … Here? Right now? It absolutely is. The stretch of him has pulled everything tight.

He’s pushing somewhere deep, and my skin is hot with the pressure. Sweat is beading on his temple, color resting high on his cheeks, that crease mark still visible down one side of his face. My muscles tighten involuntarily, and he lets out a long groan, looking down at where we’re joined, not moving.

“I don’t dare move because I’ll shoot off like a teenager,” he says.

I laugh at this, tilting my hips, and he inhales sharply.

“Give me a little movement,” I say, and he closes his eyes and grimaces like it’s an impossibility.

Most guys would take this request and let go; they’re often careless, bent on their own pleasure, and the thrusting in and out of me is just … well … not my thing? But the still pressure of him on the inside is ratcheting it all up, layer by layer. Then he does this shifting slightly back and forward thing with his hips, and the movement’s tiny but it makes goose bumps break out all over my body.

“Oh God,” he says, resting his forehead on my chest, still watching where he’s moving. “Fuck, Jo.”

He pushes in and rubs his pubic bone against me, and I arch right up and grab his ass all in one movement, eyes rolling into the back of my head.

“You like that?” he growls, and he starts this rhythm: a short thrust inside and a rub, and I can hardly hold on to myself; I’m fraying around the edges. My open mouth presses into the hot damp of his skin, my tongue tasting the salt of him and there’s nothing I can do—just the impossibility of breathing and the need to take, take, take what he gives me. The wet suction of him as he pulses, he’s whispering into my collarbone, fragments of breath and speech gusting over me.

“Fuck.”

“Holy …”

“Jo.”

“So.”

“God.”

I start to move my hips tentatively, and he swears, hands coming around to grab my ass in a punishing grip as he pushes right into me, long and slow, rubbing all over me before pulling out and doing it all over again.

“Jesus Christ,” he grits out. “Jo …” He lets out a husky groan as he grinds against me. Heat burns down my spine and sets up a dull throb behind my belly button and down into my sex. I’m slippery with sweat watching how turned on he is. I feel emboldened. My thoughts flap loose as I dig my heels into his thighs and push up into his thrusts.

“Yes, Jo, yeah. Fuck.”

His hand slips between us, and I was close anyway, but as soon as his thumb finds my nub, it’s game over. His teeth sink into my neck and I gasp as the tightness builds, like racing up the staircase of a slide. I’m teetering on the top as sensation moves up from toes to hands to shoulders, and the wave in my body is rising and rising and rising.

“OhGod,” I whisper.

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