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still a moment as she moulded around me. The first
thrust got me every damn time. The way her body fit to mine—like
any female who’d come before her had been wrong, so fucking wrong,
because none of them had been Shelley. None of them had drawn me in
so deep. None of them held me so tight and embraced my body the way
she did, the way her depths hugged around my dick like it’d spent
every second of every day our bodies’d separated for missing the
connection. When my lids lifted and my eyes met Shelley’s shining
up at me, I took in the blush scattered over her cheeks and the way
her lips parted to let past the broken breaths she took, and I
knew, I just knew, it affected her the same damn way.
    Not breaking
her gaze, I pulled out until my tip balanced at her entrance, and
drove in again, harder, deeper, a second growl releasing before I
withdrew again. I thrust again, stopping only when I had no more to
give, grunting as Shelley whimpered.
    The tiny groove
Shelley always got between her eyebrows appeared as I hit a rhythm,
her lips parting and releasing each heightened breath with each
plunge of my hips. It took only seconds for the steady coiling of
my muscles to begin an upward climb of my calves, thanks to my
self-torment, but I ignored them, blocked them, shut down the gates
on them creeping any higher.
    Above her head,
Shelley’s fingers grappled with the loose cotton of the bedding,
twisting and clutching, her fingernails scraping and sending
splinters of excitement stabbing out from my groin. With each
scratch of fabric, the more I wanted that hand on me. Wanted her
scratching into me instead of the bed. More than wanted—I needed
her hands on me. Hell, I’d have her hands all over me, if that were
even possible.
    Reaching up, I
gripped Shelley’s wrist and pulled it down. “Touch me, Shel.”
    The heat from
her palm seemed to scorch where she brushed over my back, over my
hips, until her fingertips dug into my butt. She raised a leg, and
her right calf hooked over my hip. Her left foot wove around my
right thigh, her heel digging into the back of my lower leg as she
brought her body up to meet my thrusts.
    Clutching her
hip, my right hand tugged and caressed in a pattern that guided her
rhythm to match my own. My other hand folded around her left
shoulder, holding her steady for each pound of my hips, holding me
grounded for each undulated rock of her body.
    My face buried
into the crook of her neck, where her scent seeped from every one
of her pores like she secreted a personal aphrodisiac she’d
formulated just for me, and she found a pattern of her own, one I
was forced to match. Her right leg clung tight, pinning me to her
with each of her thrusts. Her left foot dug into the muscle of my
calf as she urged, urged, urged upward, her hips tilting and
retreating, tilting and retreating. Throughout it all, her breaths
shared space with her tiny whimpers, her gasps, her groans each
time our hips rejoined.
    With each drive
of my own hips, the scratch of her nails pierced the flesh at the
base of my back, hauling me to her and sending prickles of pain
dancing the length of my spine that brought only pleasure. Her
nails pierced deeper, and the growl in my chest hummed through me
like some kind of infestation. Digging its way outward from the
very centre of my being. Threatening to take over the core of
everything that was me. My lips rippled with the effort to keep it
contained, to keep my jaws contained. To keep from fucking biting.
To keep from fully mating. To keep from making Shelley mine.
    My fingers sank
into the slender flesh of her thigh with the effort of restraint.
The muscles bunched through my shoulders. My balls tightened and
fucking tightened more. I curled the hand vice-gripping her
shoulder into a fist to save crushing the slender bones of her
clavicle.
    Trying to rein
it all in was torture. Being with Shelley always had the potential
to be both heaven and hell. Most times, I controlled it, but