“Look at me,” he commands softly, and I meet his gaze as he begins to press inside.
The stretch is exquisite. Heat sears through me, the ache of being filled colliding with the shock of how perfectly he fits, as if my body has been waiting for this shape, this man.
He fills me inch by deliberate inch until I’m gasping at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers dig into my hips, not quite hard enough to bruise but firm enough to hold me steady as my body adjusts to accommodate him.
“Breathe,” he reminds me, his voice strained with the effort of going slow. “Let me in, Nicole. All of me.”
I roll my hips experimentally, and he groans, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine. When he’s fully seated, we both pause, overwhelmed by the perfect fit, the way my body seems made to take him.
“Move,” I whisper, and he does—a slow withdrawal that makes me whimper, then a deep thrust that sends sparks shooting through every nerve ending.
The rhythm builds gradually, the wet sound of our joining mixing with our harsh breathing and his whispered encouragements. His hips snap forward with controlled power, each thrust deliberate and devastating, angled to hit that spot inside me that makes me see stars.
“Okay?” he manages as he pants through gritted teeth.
“More than okay,” I breathe, rolling my hips in invitation.
This is what sex is supposed to be like—partnership instead of performance, mutual enjoyment instead of one-sided satisfaction. He moves as if he’s making love to me rather than just using my body for release.
“You feel incredible,” he murmurs against my throat, and I believe him because everything about his touch speaks reverence.
The rhythm builds gradually, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until I’m balanced on the edge of something vast and overwhelming. Every movement sends sparks through my nervous system; every breath he takes fans the fire building in my core.
“You’re so tight, so perfect. I want to feel you come around my cock,” he whispers into the shell of my ear. The words hit like alightning strike to my core; I clench around him, and his groan rips through me like silk tearing.
I cry out his name as my climax crashes through me, more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. Seconds later, he follows, my name on his lips like a prayer as he buries his face in my neck.
In the aftermath, we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, hearts gradually slowing from their frantic pace. I fit perfectly against his side, my head on his shoulder, one hand splayed across his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He presses an absentminded kiss to my hairline, and my chest goes hot and tight with a kind of aching contentment I don’t recognize—safety wearing the shape of a man.
I could stay like this forever—being held, feeling him breathe, basking in the glow of the most blissful sex of my life.
But reality creeps back as my pulse returns to normal. What we just shared was incredible—better than I imagined sex could be—but it was also more intimate than I’d planned. The emotional connection was supposed to be manageable, controllable.
Instead, I feel cracked wide open. Danger flickers under the sweetness—this is the part where, in my old life, tenderness turned into leverage. I can feel how easy it would be to fall, and that alarms me more than anything.Protect yourself, Nicole. Shut things down now.
“That was… amazing,” I say, rather than “beautiful,” which was on the tip of my tongue. Instead of letting him see how deeply this coupling affected me, I try to keep my expression stoic as I sit up, reaching for my scattered clothes.
“It was,” he agrees, but something in his tone makes me look at him.
There’s disappointment in his eyes, like he can see me retreating already.
“But let’s keep this simple,” I continue, pulling my sweater over my head. “No expectations. No complications. Just… this.”
“Simple?” He sits up slowly, his perceptive gaze searching my face. A muscle jumps in his jaw, there and gone, the only sign he’s been hit.
“No strings attached. Casual. We’re both adults, we’re attracted to each other, and we have great chemistry. Why complicate it with feelings and expectations?”
The words taste wrong in my mouth, and I hear the wobble in my tone that I’m trying to hide.
It isn’t the truth, not all of it. Fear is in the driver’s seat. In my marriage, every vulnerable moment became ammunition later. If I showed softness, it got used like a lever. What if I hand that power to someone again? What if the gentleness disappears once he knows he matters?
But even as I think it, I know it’s not fair to Quintus. The way he touched me tonight was reverent, not possessive. I’m punishing a good man for someone else’s sins, and I hate that I’m doing it even as I do it.
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see him processing my boundaries. When he speaks, his voice is carefully neutral.
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” I lie, although it feels caustic coming out. “For now.”
