Brothers of Paradise Series

I need another ache stilled first.

Rhys puts on the condom with practiced moves, and then he nudges my legs wide, eyes on mine. His thumb circles as he pushes inside of me slowly, inch by torturous inch.

His darkened eyes meet mine, and I nod, even though he hasn’t spoken. My body is lightly sore from the other night, but it’s not painful. It’s a dull ache, evidence of him. Of what we’d done.

Rhys pushes himself in to the hilt. Eyes rake down my face, my chest, my hips, to the place where we’re joined. I watch, too. Transfixed.

Amazed at how easy this is with him, compared to how difficult I’d always imagined it would be. Once the fears melt away, the exploration itself is nothing but an adventure.

The heat inside of me grows with every second he stays still. Stretching me, and I take a deep breath, relaxing into the sensation.

“Rhys,” I beg, raising my hips.

He reaches down to grip my thighs, pulling my legs up to rest on either side of his chest. And then he starts to move.

My hands fist in the comforter beneath me. “Oh God,” I murmur, over and over again, because it’s so deep this way, like he’s moving somewhere in my center.

Rhys rolls his hips, over and over again, turning his head to press a kiss to my ankle. “You feel so good,” he tells me. “Fucking unbelievable how good you feel.”

There’s no real response to that, or if there is, it’s beyond me. My entire body is focused on where we join, and on the sheer intensity of it. I never knew it would be this intense-to have someone inside you.

But of course I should have, because how couldn’t it be?

I reach up to grip the headboard when he speeds up. Faster and deeper he goes, like this is a race we’re running, and maybe it is because my own pleasure grows in turn.

“Touch yourself,” he tells me, hands gripped around my thighs. My legs are still braced against his body.

A fleeting moment of embarrassment, but it doesn’t linger. I circle the throbbing spot between my legs, right above where he’s working, and the pleasure grows.

“Yes,” Rhys growls, “just like that, Ivy. Just like that.” He shifts forward, bending me double, bracing his hands on either side of me.

The depths he’s reaching make me gasp.

“Too much?”

“No, no, no.” I shake my head too, for added emphasis. “Good.”

A smile ghosts across his lips. “Good,” he echoes, and then he surrenders to the job and I surrender to him. The height of my pleasure is a mountain easily climbed with him so deep inside, and I break and shatter, moaning. Surrender any semblance of control.

“Fucking hell, Ivy,” Rhys growls, and then he comes too, and I watch his face as his eyes shut, as he groans, as the thrusting becomes erratic.

It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.

I reach up to pull him down, to have him stay with me after, but Rhys rolls off right away. “Condom,” he tells me by way of explanation, throwing it out. But then he returns, stretching out nude on the bed next to me.

We’re both breathing hard.

“That was faster than I’d intended,” he says.

“Was it?”

He runs a hand over his face. “There are still a ton of things you haven’t explored. Things I was looking forward to showing you. Turns out I couldn’t wait.”

“Neither could I,” I say. “And we still have time to explore, don’t we?”

He glances over at me, an eyebrow raised. “You might regret saying that.”

“Will I?”

“Yes. Because there’s no role I enjoy more than that of tutor.”

I roll over on my stomach and slide my arms beneath a fluffy pillow. “It lets you be suitably pretentious and snide.”

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I laugh, reaching over to trace the length of his arm with my finger. “Is this something you do often?”

“Define ‘this,'” Rhys asks, reaching up to tuck an arm behind his head. In profile, with his straight nose, full lips, strong chin… he should be the model.

“Tutoring impressionable young virgins.”

He barks a laugh, and I join. My finger doesn’t stop tracing the length of his bicep. He has a few freckles here, from sun and saltwater.

“No. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept with a virgin.”

“Two days ago,” I correct.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Smart-ass.”

“I’ve learned from you.” I turn my finger up, trace the other direction. Across the width of his shoulder. “But what about sex in general?”

He closes his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “Men are usually the ones to ask about that.”

“They are?”

“Demanding lists of former sexual partners, plotting a strategy to best every single one of them in performance.”

“Would you have done that to me? If I had a list?”

He snorts. “I don’t know. As it is, I’m just glad you didn’t have one.”

Questions swirl around in my head, questions that don’t have an answer. Things had changed these last few days, but had they changed more than the two of us becoming friends who’ve slept together?

Do I want them to?

“I’m allowed to ask any sex-related questions I want.”

“Did I ever agree to that? I can’t remember.”