But she hadn’t mentioned the coiling, twisting anticipation or the sparkling awareness I suffered whenever Art was close.
Everything she’d said had fascinated and terrified me, and I made a vow to never get involved with the opposite sex until I understood every complication.
But now?
Here.
With only the boy I adored and no one to tell us to stop—I couldn’t give a damn about the consequences.
My lips burned for his; I wanted nothing more than to spread my legs and let him see.
See me.
See what he did to me.
See just how much I wanted him to touch me, stroke me, claim me.
Just the thought of having his eyes on that part of my body drove tingles and throbs through my belly.
Arthur shifted closer, his dark hair mingling with my red curls on the sand. The icing-sugar granules were cool on my back and soft—so soft.
I’d deliberately worn a skirt, and with my heart rehomed permanently in my lungs, I grabbed his wrist and guided his hand over my thigh and beneath the daisy-print material.
His face tightened, eyes burning feverously.
A moan fell from my lips as every emotion and hyperaware sensation of that night exploded inside me.
I launched myself at Arthur.
With a grunt, he caught me, his mouth opened in shock as my hands sank into his hair, tilting his head to the perfect angle. I stole his protests—not that he was protesting—and kissed him hard.
I wasn’t aware of us moving or falling to the sand below. All I focused on was his delicious taste, intoxicating smell, and the slipperiness of his tongue as he kissed me furiously back.
“Cleo… wait.”
My teeth ground in frustration; my knees trembled as he tried to tug his wrist away.
“I can’t. You’re too—”
“If you say I’m too young one more time, Arthur Killian, I’ll punch you.”
He laughed, his arm relaxing enough for me to drag his fingers closer to where I wanted him.
“You were so hesitant about touching me. So afraid,” I panted between kisses.
“You were so damn forward,” he groaned as my fingers gripped around his cock. His loud groan echoed over the beach. I stroked him through his jeans, needing skin, needing nothing between us.
Our lips never unfused as we kissed and fumbled and rolled around in the sand.
One moment I was on top, tugging at his buckle and zipper.
The next he was on top, undoing my jeans and wrenching them down my legs.
Then we were side by side, kissing breathlessly, legs twining together, hips pulsing—bodies possessed with consuming one another.
Underwear was our nemesis. We couldn’t strip fast enough.
Sand got everywhere, but we were both past caring.
“Touch me, Art. Just once. Then I’ll stop hounding you.” I nipped at his bottom lip as his head flopped forward in defeat.
“Just once?”
I’d won. Happiness and a small douse of nervousness fluttered in my heart. “Just once.”
I froze as his hand moved upward on its own accord. I breathed hard and harsh then cried out as he finally, finally touched me where I’d been burning for months.
“Shit, Cleo. Where the fuck are your panties?”
I snickered, eyes rolling into the back of my head as his fingers traced my wetness. “I don’t need them around you. They just get drenched anyway.”
“Fuck.” His lips found mine and his precious self-control snapped.
I screamed into his mouth as his long, strong finger went where nothing had before. Pressing up inside me, stretching strangely, erotically, and so scrumptiously I would never be the same.
“Art. God, more!”
My back bowed as two fingers entered me, hooking up and stroking my G-spot. He wasn’t shy like he’d been that day. He was the one in control and I unraveled under his expert touch.
The past and present flickered fast, merging into one.
My hands felt empty as Art kissed me and continued to ease his finger in and out. It felt incredible but slowly my body became unsatisfied. It wanted more. It wanted to stretch and reach for a goal I had no words for.
I wanted to feel him.
He stiffened as my fingers found the treasure of my quest. His erection burned through his jeans, leaping against the material at the faintest touch.
“Shit, Cleo. Stop.” His finger froze inside me.
I moaned in frustration. “I’m not going to stop and neither are you. Stop overthinking this, Art. Age doesn’t matter. Family doesn’t matter. Rules don’t matter. Only you and I matter. And this… It feels right. Better than right. Meant to be.”
He lost the ability to retaliate as my hands cupped him harder.
The present dragged me back as Arthur spread my legs, settling his lean hips between them. My fingernails dug into his back as he slid inside me. His mouth held mine captive as he sank deeper and deeper. The softness of the sand below cushioned every inch, while the hardness of Arthur above pebbled my nipples and scrambled my mind.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to sink inside you since that day. I was such an idiot to say no. To put us through that frustration.” His lips fought with mine, stealing my reply.
He let his weight smother me. His mouth hot and wet, his hands disappearing into my hair. Fisting the strands, he kept my head back and throat exposed as he thrust.
His head lowered, lips sucking hard on my neck. He grunted with every deep plunge of his cock.
I cried out as my common sense rapidly slipped into lust-haze bliss.
His touch in my hair bruised, his teeth hurt my tender throat, and his hips drove hard and arrogantly possessive into me, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
Not a single thing.
The pleasure was rapturous. A gift only given with full trust, implicit connection, and sexual electricity.
Oh God.
My mind blacked out, consumed by having him in me, above me, around me.
Our bodies couldn’t get close enough. His legs tangled with mine. His stomach stuck to mine with every breath.
Kissing.
Devouring.
Fucking.
We spun our own time frame as his hands left my hair and skated down my body. Every inch of me blazed with supernovas and stardust, wanting him to abuse me with love.
He kissed me so deeply, my mind splinted into mirrored fractals granting me a new memory while sending me whirling into another.
I held him.
I held his naked cock in my hand for the very first time. I’d never felt anything like it. Silk but steel. Velvet but rock. Dry but wet at the very tip.
He fascinated me.
He lay on his back, eyes squeezed shut. His chest rose and fell as if he’d run miles.
With my tongue peeking between my lips in concentration, I stroked him.
The reaction was instantaneous.
His torso jerked off the sand and his groan made every inch of me quiver.
I stroked him again and again. Craving the way he came undone before me, giving me complete power over him.
I fell deeper into love, harder into lust. I became obsessed with making him explode.
“I loved making you come that first time,” I breathed, tearing my bruised lips from his as Arthur thrust harder.
“I couldn’t help it. Fuck, you drove me mad that day. I had the self-control of a saint to stop myself from rolling on top of you and taking your virginity right there.”
I cried out as his hips pulsed, his cock thickening inside me at the thought. “You should’ve. I wanted you to.”
He came.
His head snapped back and a cry tore from his lips. His entire body quaked as I stroked him up and down, up and down.
I’d never seen someone give ultimate control to another but his body surrendered everything to me in that moment—every muscle seizing with bliss, his mind utterly blank from everything but waves of pleasure.
Spurts of white ribboned onto his black T-shirt, arching through the air with every pulse of his hips into my hand.
It both scared and thrilled me. I wanted to do it again and again. To force him to relinquish control to me—to trust me completely.
Arthur dragged me back, his hand clutching my hip as his thrusts lost uniformity, driving relentlessly and punishingly. An orgasm sparked, half from him taking me now and half from us in another time.
Art’s fingers felt amazing inside me, but his thumb was the magic.
My pussy rippled around his digits as the first band of whatever teased me responded to his hesitant touch. I cried out as he thrust and rubbed, the combination of the two sensations driving me up, up and up.
“I want you to let go, Cleo. You made me come. I want to do that for you.” His lips landed on my cheek, then chin, then throat, spreading fire through my blood.
His finger hooked upward, pressing against a spot inside that wasn’t flesh and blood but magic and love-laced.
“Oh God. Art, yes.” I wanted to beg him for more, to never stop, but he knew what I wanted.
His wrist jerked up and down as he drove his finger harder and faster into me. My hips bowed up to meet him. I lost all pretense of shyness and demure young woman and gave myself in to the grip of sin.
This was where I belonged. Here. With him.
“I’m—I’m—” I didn’t know what I was. Shattering perhaps? Splitting into two as my core tightened and tightened until I thought I’d combust.
“You’re coming, Buttercup. Give it to me. Give me your first.” Art’s lips took mine, his tongue thrusting in time with his finger.