I was damn near ready to beg for him to fuck me hard before finally, he pushed inside to the hilt.
The thrust of his body, the skilled demand of his fingers, the low, raw certainty in his voice—it was too much.
I shattered around him, crying out as I came again, tighter and more intense than the first time.
No shame.
No restraint.
Just him and me, skin to skin, heart to heart, unraveling.
His control broke seconds later.
His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as his release ripped through him.
He buried his face in my neck, groaning deep, guttural, desperate—as he spilled inside me.
The sound alone made my toes curl.
For a moment, neither of us moved. We stayed joined, tangled, our sweat-slicked skin clinging as we rode out the aftershocks together. His weight over me wasn’t too much—it was grounding, real.
The press of his chest to my back, the warmth of his breath against my hair, the way his body curved instinctively around mine… it felt like more than release.
When he finally shifted, rolling onto his side, the loss of contact made me ache in places I didn’t expect.
I turned to face him, memorizing the strong line of his jaw, the glisten of sweat at his temple, the rise and fall of his chest still recovering from what we’d just done.
"That was..." I began, voice hoarse, brain slow.
"Yes," he said simply, turning his head toward me. His gaze was soft now. Open. Ravaged.
"It was."
We lay in silence for a while, our heated bodies gradually cooling.
I should have felt awkward, I knew—naked beside a stranger in the aftermath of unexpectedly intense sex.
Instead, I felt oddly peaceful.
Present in my body in a way I rarely allowed myself to be.
His hand found mine on the sheet between us, fingers interlacing.
Another surprisingly tender gesture from a man who radiated power and control.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
I considered lying, offering something light or flirtatious. But the strange intimacy between us demanded honesty.
"I'm thinking that I should regret this," I said. "But I don't."
He turned to face me, those blue eyes searching mine. "And why should you regret it?"
"Because this isn't me. I don't do one-night stands. I don't invite strangers to my bed." I laughed softly. "I don't even know your name."
Something flickered across his face—an emotion I couldn't identify.
For a moment, I thought he might offer his name, might crack open the door to a reality beyond this night.
