“Peter,” I whispered.
“Go on, baby,” he said, his drawl low and thick. “Use me. Take what you need.”
The term he loved slipped out of him, soft and rough at the same time.
“My sexy little witch,” he added, his smile brief but real. “Always knew you’d own me.”
I laughed, and the sound felt strange and precious.
“I like when you call me that,” I said. “I always have.”
“Good,” he said. “’Cause I ain’t stoppin’.”
He kissed me again, slower now, deeper, his hips moving in a careful grind that sent sparks through me. My hands roamedover his shoulders, down his back, memorizing every line of muscle, every small tremor he tried to hide.
Clothes shifted. Buttons came undone. Skin met skin in quick flashes. The air between us grew hotter, the world narrowing to the sensation of his body surrounding me, supporting me, giving me something solid to hold onto while everything else felt like it might cave.
When he finally slid into me, it was with a care that almost broke me.
There was no rush. No frantic tearing at each other. Just a slow, steady joining that pushed the grief back enough for something else to rise, Pleasure, yes, but also a fierce sense of being alive, of being claimed by someone who had seen all my worst parts and stayed anyway.
My hands dug into his shoulders. My breath hitched. The tree at my back grounded me while he moved with me, holding my gaze, whispering my name in that voice that made everything inside me loosen.
“That’s it, Gracie,” he murmured. “Feel me locked inside you. Right here. Stay with me. Only me.”
“You feel so good,” my words stumbled out as his rhythm picked up.
“So thick,” I whimpered.
“You’re so deep,” I moaned.
“Fuck, Gracie. If you don’t stop talkin’, I’ll explode right here.”
“I want you to. Please.”
I watched the sunset over his shoulder as our bodies moved in a rhythm that belonged only to us. The sky shifted to deeper orange, then red, then bruised purple. The wind wrapped the willow branches around us, creating a small, trembling shelter.
He held me tight against him as is dick slid in and out of me, his hips thrusting hard against me as his mouth clamped down over the sigil on my breast.
“Peter!” I cried out as he reached between us, brushing his calloused thumb over my clit.
“Cum for me, my sexy little witch.
I whimpered as his rhythm became erratic, all while his thumb rotated on my clit, my hips jerked, my body begging him for more.
His lips pressed to mine and the words that came out of his lips flung me over the edge.
“That’s my good girl,” he growled.
I shuddered in his arms as he fucked me harder. He didn’t stop, he just prolonged it so sweetly, relishing in my whimpers. When I finally broke apart, it was not clean. Tears mixed with the sounds he pulled from me. The pleasure crashed into the grief and blurred the edges of both. I clung to him like he was the last solid thing in a world made of smoke.
He followed me over, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath rough, his hands gentle even as his body shook.
We stayed there for a long time afterward, his weight holding me to the tree, our hearts trying to find a steady rhythm again.
He eventually eased back, careful, helping me straighten my dress, tucking his shirt in with shaky fingers. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my mouth, then the corner of my jaw.
“You, okay?” he asked.
