Chapter 64 Love Making
Amelia
Jeremy's strong hands caught me. Jeremy's mug hit the nightstand with a thunk as he grabbed my waist, steadying me.
"Are you okay?" His voice was concerned.
"Yes, I just..." I pressed against him, letting the momentum carry me closer. "I tripped."
His hands on my waist tightened. Steadied me.
And then I felt it—felt the exact moment he realised what I was wearing.
Or rather, what I wasn't wearing.
The nightgown had ridden up when I stumbled. I could feel the cool air on my bare thighs. Could feel his hands on the silk at my waist, just inches from—
"Amelia." His voice was strained. "What are you?"
"I'm sorry. I'm so clumsy." I smiled up at where I thought his face was. I let my hand slide down between us. I let my hand slide down his chest. His stomach and his groin.
My palm pressed against him. Against the clear evidence of his arousal through his sleep pants.
He made a strangled sound.
"Oh," I said innocently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Amelia." His voice was rough. Warning. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." His hands slid from my waist to my arms. "You're—you came here in a nightgown with no—" He stopped. "You're playing a very dangerous game."
"Maybe I don't want to play games anymore." I pressed closer. "Maybe I want to be honest about what I want."
"And what do you want?"
"You." The word came out breathless. Honest. "I want you, Jeremy."
He was silent for a long moment. I could feel his chest rising and falling against mine. Could feel the tension in his body. The restraint.
"Amelia." The whisper of my name was barely audible. "If we do this, if I—" He stopped. Started again. "I won't be able to stop. Do you understand? If I kiss you right now, I won't stop at just kissing."
"Good."
"I'm serious. Last night you stopped me because I was drunk. Tonight I'm sober. And if you let me start this" His hand cupped my face. "I'm going to have all of you."
My breath caught. "I know."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Amelia," He whispered.
"Jeremy, stop talking and kiss me."
For a heartbeat, he didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Then his mouth was on mine.
Hard. Desperate. Claiming.
It was nothing like last night's drunken kisses. This was focused. Intentional. Devastating.
His tongue traced my lower lip and I opened for him. Let him in, and take it.
His hand in my hair. His other hand sliding down my back. Finding the hem of my nightgown, and sliding underneath.
Finding my bare skin.
He groaned into my mouth. "Cristo, Amelia. You're trying to kill me."
"Is it working?"
"Yes."
He kissed me again. Deeper. Hungrier. His hands were exploring everywhere the silk didn't cover—which was almost everything.
I gasped when his palm cupped my breast through the thin fabric.
"Too much?" he murmured against my lips.
"Not enough."
He made a sound—half laugh, half growl—and suddenly I was being lifted. He sat me down on something soft.
His bed.
"Last chance," he said, his voice rough. "Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you changed your mind."
"I haven't changed my mind."
"Thank God."
His mouth found mine again. But only for a moment before it moved—down my jaw, my neck, finding the hollow of my throat.
His hands slid the nightgown straps off my shoulders. Down.
Cool air hit my skin. I was exposed. Bare to him.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed.
I couldn't see his face. Couldn't see his expression. But I could hear the reverence in his voice.
Could feel it in the way his hands touched me, gentle but possessive. Like I was something precious and his all at once.
His mouth found my breast. I gasped, arched into him.
"Jeremy," I moaned his name.
He took me into his mouth, his tongue circling, his teeth grazing gently. His hand found my other breast, palm cupping, thumb stroking.
Sensation flooded through me. There was too much happening at once, yet it still felt insufficient. I needed more.
His mouth moved lower. Kissing down my stomach. My hip.
His hands slid the nightgown down completely. Removed it.
I was naked. Completely naked in his bed.
And I didn't feel vulnerable. I felt powerful, wanted and desired.
"Amelia." His voice was strained. "I need—can I—"
His hand slid between my thighs. Gentle and questioning.
"Yes," I breathed.
His fingers touched my groin. He explored its wetness.
"God, you're—" He made a sound that was almost pained. "You're so ready for me."
"Yes."
His mouth followed where his hand had been.
I gasped and tried to close my legs, but his shoulders held them open.
"Jeremy, you don't have to" I said shyly
"I want to." His breath against my most intimate place. "Let me."
And then his mouth was on me and I couldn't think anymore.
I could only feel the heat of his tongue. The pressure. The way he seemed to know exactly where to touch, how hard, and how fast.
"That's it," he murmured. "Cum for me, Amelia. Let me hear you."
I'd never—no one had ever.
The pressure built. The pressure grew stronger and more intense. The pressure intensified until it broke me completely. I cried out his name erotically. My hands found their way into his hair. My body trembled in response.
He gentled his touch, working me through it. Drawing it out until I was boneless. Gasping.
He moved up my body. Kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips.
"You're perfect," he said against my mouth. "So perfect."
His hand moved between my thighs again. One finger pressing inside.
I tensed.
He stopped immediately. "Amelia?"
"I'm—" My face burnt. "I've never—"
Silence. Then: "You're a virgin."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
More silence. I felt him pull back slightly.
"Jeremy"
"We should stop." His voice was tight. "This is—you should save this for someone who can—"
"I want it to be you."
"Amelia"
"Please." I reached for him. Found his face. "I want this. I want you. Don't push me away because you think I deserve better. Let me choose."
"Are you sure?" His forehead pressed against mine. "Once we do this, we can't take it back."
"I don't want to take it back. I want this." I kissed him. "I want you. I want all of you, please."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay. But—we do this right. Slow. If it hurts, if you want to stop, you tell me."
"Okay."
I heard him move. Fabric rustling. His sleep pants being removed.
Then his weight settled over me. Between my thighs. His hardness was pressing against where I was still sensitive from his mouth.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
He pushed forward. Slowly. So slowly.
Pressure stretching. A sharp pinch of pain—
I gasped.
He stopped immediately. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. Keep going."
"Amelia—"
"Please, Jeremy. I want this."
He pushed forward again. He pushed deeper, initially moving slowly, but then he increased the pace.
The pain faded. Its pain transformed into a new sensation. I felt full at that point, then he stopped.
"Okay?" His voice was strained with effort. With restraint.
"Yes. You can—you can continue."
He did. then slowly at again. He patiently allowed me to adjust. Letting me feel every inch of him.
Then faster. Deeper.
His mouth found mine. He swallowed my gasps with ease. My moans.
"You feel so good," he breathed. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."
Maybe I was.
Maybe this 'us' was always meant to happen.
Maybe all the complications, obstacles, and reasons why this was wrong didn't matter at all—
Maybe none of it mattered.
Because right now, in this moment, with Jeremy inside me and around me, and everywhere—
Everything felt right.