.
His erection is rigid against my hip through his boxer briefs.
He wants me, but his words from earlier choose this
moment to come back and haunt me, what he said about
his mother. And it’s like a bucket of cold water on my
libido. Fuck. I can’t do this. Not now.
“Christian . . . Stop. I can’t do this,” I whisper urgently
against his mouth, my hands pushing on his upper arms.
“What? What’s wrong?” he murmurs and starts kissing
my neck, running the tip of his tongue lightly down my
throat. Oh . . .
“No, please. I can’t do this, not now. I need some
time, please.”
“Oh, Ana, don’t overthink this,” he whispers as he nips
my earlobe.
“Ah!” I gasp, feeling it in my groin, and my body bows,
betraying me. This is so confusing.
“I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you.
Touch me. Please.” He rubs his nose against mine, and his
Touch me. Please.” He rubs his nose against mine, and his
quiet heartfelt plea moves me and I melt.
Touch him. Touch him while we make love. Oh my.
He rears up over me, gazing down, and in the half-light
from the dimmed bedside light, I can tell that he’s waiting,
waiting for my decision, and he’s caught in my spell.
I reach up and tentatively place my hand on the soft
patch of hair over his sternum. He gasps and scrunches his
eyes closed as if in pain, but I don’t take my hand away
this time. I move it up to his shoulders, feeling the tremor
run through him. He groans, and I pull him down to me
and place both my hands on his back, where I’ve never
touched him before, on his shoulder blades, holding him to
me. His strangled moan arouses me like nothing else.
He buries his head in my neck, kissing and sucking and
biting me, before trailing his nose up my chin and kissing
me, his tongue possessing my mouth, his hands moving
over my body once more. His lips move down . . .
down . . . down to my breasts, worshipping as they go,
and my hands stay on his shoulders and his back, enjoying
the flex and ripple of his finely honed muscles, his skin sti
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