Written in 57 minutes. Rated R. Shorter than most of my usual parts, but I wanted to make sure I took my time with this scene and did it right. I don’t normally write things like this, but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.
Morgan Penthouse: Master Bedroom
Elizabeth emerged from the bathroom, and when she found Jason still in the room, standing at the dresser to pull out clothes for the day, she decided to take it as a sign.
“Hey, um, do you have something to do today?” she asked, forcing a casualness to her tone, even as she slid her eyes over the muscles in his back, and the smooth expanse of his chest when he turned to answer her question.
“Not until tonight,” he said, and her cheeks flushed when she dragged her eyes up to meet his, to find him smiling because he’d probably known what she was looking at.
She could do this. She could absolutely do this, and reminded herself that Jason had made it clear for more than a week now that he was physically attracted to her, but it was easy to forget that. She was…who she was and built the way she was, and Jason was older and he’d been with other women—how many, she wondered idly, and how could she possibly—
“Did you want to do something?”
His question jerked her out of her thoughts and she bit her lip, folded her arms. She mentally cheered when his eyes drifted down—the strap of her tank top had slid down her arm. Okay, so maybe—
“Yes. I—” She stepped forward. Just a single step because it was literally she could manage. Everything felt tingly and heavy and strange. How did you ask a man to take off his clothes? Was too fast? But he’d done it a few days ago, she reminded herself—
“Elizabeth?” Jason prompted. He closed the dresser drawer, then strode towards her, stopping a few feet away. He tipped his head to the side. “What did you want to do?”
She knew she hadn’t said it out loud, but maybe it was in her eyes because the blue in his seemed to change shades, darkening, and there was a tenseness in his chest that hadn’t been there earlier. Not tense. That wasn’t the right word. But she could literally see his body tighten.
She was an adult woman who was married to this man. She could ask for it, couldn’t she? He wouldn’t laugh at her or say no.
Elizabeth lifted her chin, took a deep breath. “Um, a few days ago. Before the search warrant, I mean. We were talking about…and we were—” She gestured at him. “I just, um, didn’t want you to think I wasn’t—” Stop babbling, moron, she chided herself.
Jason caught her hand and drew her closer until their bodies brushed. He dipped his head and kissed her, and all of the nerves fled her body like rain cascading from the sky. She loved the flavor of him, the mint from his toothpaste, the way he always tasted just a little like coffee—
Her hands dug into the skin just beneath his shoulder blades, addicted to the way his skin felt like someone had stretched silk over steel. And his heart pounded against her chest as Jason dragged her closer, his hands tangled in her hair, sliding through until he’d released it from the band she’d been wearing. It spilled down around her face and shoulders.
Jason drew back just slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing shallow and the color in his cheeks raised. She’d done that to him, she had to remind herself. He’d been touching and kissing her and she’d made him that way—
“What do you want to do?” he repeated, but now the question sounded different, his voice thicker and pitched lower. And she wasn’t as scared as she’d been before. She wasn’t worried he’d laugh at her or refuse.
And she thought maybe she wasn’t scared of anything anymore. How could she be when this was Jason in front of her? The man who had slept beside her for more than a week? She knew the weight of his body now, the gentleness inside of it, the softness—he could never hurt her.
Elizabeth slid her hand up his chest, her fingers resting just below his collar bone. Below the bobbing of his throat as his heart continue to beat rapidly against her body. She needed to put what she wanted into words, because she knew—she knew—he wouldn’t touch her until she gave him permission. Until she told him what she wanted.
She could hear her heart so loudly it was pounding in her ears, but she knew what to do. How to tell him she was ready. She took a step forward, and he stepped back. She took another step, and he understood—
His knees hit the edge of the bed and Jason slowly sank down on the edge of the mattress, sliding back slightly. Her pulse was skittering now, and her hands were nearly shaking as she lifted a leg to rest on the bed beside him. Jason’s hands went to her hips, supporting her as she slid the other leg across him.
His fingers had slid beneath the edge of her tank top, where it had separated from the top of her sleep shorts, the touch like searing fire against her bare skin. His eyes were still locked on hers, and his hands didn’t move.
She could feel him against her now and it wasn’t the first time he’d been aroused, the heaviness against her body. The mornings she woke up curled around him, he’d always been hard — and he’d always rolled away and said nothing.
Elizabeth had never been scared of him in those moments, and now, knowing that they were close to the next step, to the step she’d never been able to take—
“Are you okay?” he asked, roughly.
Elizabeth just smiled, rested her forehead against his, her hands touching his face, just letting herself settle. She could stay here forever, his warm body against hers, reminding her that she wasn’t damaged. That she was more than the girl who’d crawled out of the bushes.
“You could never hurt me,” she answered softly. “I’m ready for this. I trust you.”
“Elizabeth, I can wait as long as you need me to,” he promised. He brushed her hair out of her face, his hands warm on her neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know. But I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to know.” She kissed him, reaching for his hands. She laced their fingers together, then brought them to her body, sliding beneath her tank top. “I want you to—” She lost the words then, her breath failing as his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts. “Please.”
“I need you to say it,” he murmured against her throat as she dipped her head back. “You’re in charge, remember?”
Oh, he was so mean, she thought, dropping her head back to glare at him. Jason just laughed at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement. Elizabeth arched a brow. Two could play that game, she decided and she rocked her hips back, then forward—and now he was the one who lost his breath for a moment.
“You were saying?” she murmured.
Jason slid the hem of her top slowly up, his eyes on hers, waiting for her to say anything to stop him. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
And then it was gone, tossed somewhere in the room, and she still wasn’t scared. Still wasn’t pulling back.
“I want this,” she told him softly. “And I want it to be you.”
He was so careful with her, moving almost too slowly at times and even Elizabeth expected him to roll them, so that she was on her back and he’d rise over her—he never did. Maybe he thought it would jar her or scare her—
But she didn’t think about any of that—couldn’t have. She was lost in the way his hands felt on hers, the way his body tensed, then nearly quivered as she explored with her fingers. She wanted to spend forever just learning every piece of him—
And then the moment came that she’d been terrified of—the moment she’d had nightmares about and panic attacks—and it was as natural and as beautiful as she’d dreamed. She wasn’t being ripped apart and broken, but pieced back together and made to feel whole for the first time in years.
And he kept those beautiful eyes on hers every minute as he slid inside, waiting for her to stop him, to give him a signal, the worry mixed with lust she could see and feel brought tears to her eyes. This wonderful man who managed to always put her first even when anyone else would be thinking of his own pleasure—
“Are you all right?” he managed when it was over and she lay on his chest, sweat glistening on their skin, their breathing shallow and rapid, the sunlight sliding through the curtains and bathing the room in golden light. Or maybe that was inside her mind. It was hard to say, hard to separate the dream from the reality.
“Better than,” she breathed, closing her eyes and drifting. “Perfect.”