His lips graze along my neck, blazing a path from ear to ear while he undresses me.
When I try to undo the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, he pushes them away. “My turn.”
I moan softly.
For him, I came out, standing up to my parents’ denial and outrage.
“Jasper, please…” I whisper.
Slick fingers probe, push, pull – leaving me a quivering mess.
For him, I beg.
His teeth bite down, marking my hip. “Mine,” he growls.
For him, I surrender.
“Yours. Please, Jasper…”
Slowly, he stretches me. Burning me. Filling me – body and soul.