She nods, once, and that’s all it takes.
I push her sweater up and away. Her skin glows in the firelight, chest rising fast. My mouth finds the delicate path between her ribs, her breast, her collarbone, painting worship in every place I’ve imagined a hundred different ways.
She gasps when I take her pert nipple in my mouth, trembling against me. I roll it with my tongue. Her hands tangle in my hair, then splay over my shoulders.
“Wells,” she whispers.
“Still okay?”
She pulls at my shirt, dragging it off by the collar. Her hands trace down my chest, over the old scar under my ribs.
“I’ve wanted this,” she says, “for a while now.”
Her jeans take effort. So do mine. But we make it—fumbling, laughing softly once when her heel gets caught in the hem, cursing the cold, the storm, the way everything feels like it might unravel. But it doesn’t.
We’re bare beneath the quilt, the fire painting the ceiling gold, our breaths thick and uneven. I settle between her open thighs. Her hands frame my face, her fingers in my hair. I can’t look away from her.
“How can I make it good for you?”
“Stay,” she says. “Don’t rush. Let me feel it all.”
So, I press forward, into her, and we both exhale like we’ve broken something open.
God. She’s warm, tight, exquisite. Her head tips back with a soft gasp, her hands gripping my shoulders. I think she might need an anchor, and I want to be that for her. I hold still, let her adjust, feel her melt around me.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Tell me if you need—”
“Just move,” she says. “Please.”
I do. Carefully, slowly at first. But the rhythm finds us quickly. We were made to move this way, together. Her body rises to meet mine, again and again. Each gasp, each moan, each whisper of my name makes my control fray.
She wraps her legs around me, pulls me deeper. Her eyes close, then fly open again, dazed and shining. My name fallsfrom her lips. She can’t stop saying it, and God, I don’t want her to.
“Wells, God—Wells—”
“Right here,” I say. “I’m right here.”
The need for release builds between us, sharp and unbearable. I kiss her through it, my hands everywhere. I want to feel her come apart. I want to give her that. I want to be the reason.
She moans when I shift deeper, her body taking every inch of me. She was made for this. To be fucked by me, to fall apart in my hands. To let someone cherish her without forcing her to disappear. To be fully seen and still be wanted.
My cock drags through the tight heat of her, slick and pulsing, and I can feel her flutter around me, already so close. I grip her thigh, press in harder, and she gasps—head falling back, throat exposed, a soft whimper escaping as I rock into her again.
I want to bite her neck. I want to kiss her pulse point. I want to fuck her until her body forgets every reason she ever gave herself to resist this pull between us.
“You feel—fuck—so good,” I breathe against her jaw, kissing the hinge of it, the skin behind her ear. “You have no goddamn idea.”
Her nails rake down my back, desperate now, and her hips jerk to meet mine. She needs me deeper, needs me all the way. I thrust again, harder, and she cries out softly—biting her lip to muffle it.
“Don’t hold back,” I growl. “Let me hear you.”
She clenches around me, hips stuttering, mouth parting in a gasp. Her body pulses beneath mine, her head pressed to my shoulder, breath catching. She’s still afraid to fall, and she shouldn’t be.
I’m right here, ready and willing to catch her.
“Let go,” I murmur into her ear. “You’re doing so good, baby. Let yourself feel.”
I told her I don’t bite, but I nip at her shoulder while she shudders, rolling my thumb over her clit in slow, relentless circles. Her whole body tenses, trembles—her thighs locking around my waist—and then she breaks, a low cry spilling out of her as she comes hard, clenching and pulsing around me.
