I twist against Caine's grip, desperately trying to force my hips down. The sensation of him barely inside me, stretching me to full-but-not, has me freaking feral with each ragged breath I take.
But my mate's oblivious to my torment, holding me up with the steel bar he calls an arm, refusing to finish the job. His thumb continues its relentless circles against my clit, making my thighs tremble, but it's not what I'm searching for.
"You'll cry if I give you what you want," he growls against my jaw. "Be good."
"I won't," I insist, even as my body clenches around the small part of him I've managed to take. "I'm not afraid of the pain."
We'll just pretend my little panicked interlude never happened, okay? I'm over it and want to know what all the romance books are talking about. By the way all my blood's surged down below, I'm throbbing and aching and going to explode if he doesn't help me out a little.
Is there a vaginal equivalent of blue balls? If so, I have it.
