Then, finally, Griffin took her mouth again, kissing her deeply. Until his tongue mimicked the thrust and retreat of his fingers, and that was too much.
It was all too much—
And this latest explosion made her stiffen, everywhere, until she thought she might shatter.
Then she did shatter.
And when she was herself again, Griffin was gathering her beneath him. He pulled her knees up and wide.
Melody could feel something wider and blunter than his fingers press against her softness. And she knew.
She had wanted this. She had dreamed of sex, that funny word that seemed so strange and sharp when all of this was...hot and physical, wide and deep. It was everything and too much and not enough. It was flesh and fantasy, surrender and hope. It was—
Griffin twisted his hips and thrust his way deep inside her.
And this time as she bucked against him, it wasn’t another one of those explosions. It was a different shattering—and the shock of pain.
She blew out a breath, then another, and his hands were at the sides of her face, brushing her hair back.
“Breathe,” he ordered her. “The pain will ebb.”
She obeyed him. She believed him.
Melody tried to pull in a breath, then let it out again, but he was on top of her. He must have been holding himself up on his elbows, but that didn’t take away from the press of him. That huge male body of his was sprawled out on top of her, holding her where she was. Keeping her there.
More than that, anchoring her in that place where they were connected.
Griffin seemed content to hold himself there forever. Something about that made her...not anxious. Nothing like anxious. But still, she wriggled her hips, experimentally.
Sensation walloped her, raw and huge, and she froze again. And panted a little.
But almost in the next moment, she tried again.
It was the same, only this time she was sure that there was something in the punch of it that she liked. Or wanted to like.
Melody knew pain, after all. She remembered the first time she’d been hit in the face—the shock of it, the emotional response. And then, years later and a great many more strikes and blows to the face—because that was how a person trained—it wasn’t as if getting hit changed any.
What changed was that she knew how to take it.
And here, now, she figured she should apply the same principle. Lean into the sensation and find out what it was.
So she did. And the more she moved her hips, the more the intensity changed. It didn’t lessen, but it didn’t stay put. It seemed to move through her until she felt it, everywhere. And there between her legs, she couldn’t decide if she was sore or scared or gluttonous.
The more she moved, the better it felt.
“Better?” Griffin asked, his voice a rough, spicy growl that merged with the sensations inside her and made them...more.
“Better,” she managed to say. “Good.”
He made another low noise. Then he gathered her in his arms again, dropped his face to her neck, and began to move.
First slow. Easy.
But every time she adapted, raising her hips to meet his thrusts, he changed the rhythm. Faster. Harder. Deeper.
It was too much. It was not enough.
She wrapped her legs around his waist again, not sure if she wanted more or if she wanted to hold herself together somehow, and he grunted his approval. And somehow that let her surrender all over again, losing herself in the building storm.
He found her breasts with his mouth, and still that pounding. That rattling, slick, intense thrust and retreat.
And the more she gave, the better it got.
Until eventually, everything began to tighten again. Everything focused on the place where they were joined, and it got wilder, and hotter, and too intense—
And she was suddenly afraid that whatever was coming for her, she couldn’t take. She couldn’t fight it. She couldn’t survive it.
“Melody,” Griffin said at her ear, his voice dark and wicked and beautiful. “Let it happen.”
And it was as if she was waiting for that. For him to make her feel safe again, even in this.
She felt the punch of it first, a wallop that should have made her cry. Or perhaps she was crying already, but she didn’t care, because her body was arching up into it. The rattle and the roll, the madness and glory rocked through her then.
Making her fall apart even as she was, for the first time in this searing heat, whole.
And still he pumped himself into her, thrust after thrust, until he roared out her name.
Then together they shook, and together they fell, and then, for a long while, there was nothing but breath.
And even that seemed near to impossible. Too much to bear.
The world crept back in. It felt aggressive.
Everything was different now. And yet, as far as Melody could tell, great swaths of the population ran around doing this all the time. So much and so often that they grew bored of it, or opted out, or any number of other things she hadn’t really understood when she’d read about them and certainly couldn’t imagine now.
It was physically painful to remind herself that if even a tiny fraction of the stories told about Prince Griffin were true, he went about doing exactly this the way some people brushed their hair or had a bath.
The world no longer felt aggressive. It was crushing.
“Well,” Melody said brightly, though he was still sprawled over her. She couldn’t tell which one of their hearts was pounding so hard it hurt, but she had a good idea. “Thank you. I was beginning to think I would die without ever understanding what sex was.”
Griffin shifted and once more she felt his hand on her face, brushing back her hair. She was tempted to imagine that was tenderness. She felt herself melt all over again.
But when he spoke, his voice was all condemnation. “You have no idea what sex is. That was a palate cleanser. Did I not tell you to
