Was she truly the one responsible for that look?
Was she truly the reason why he looked so close to losing his control?
“Paul—”It was her turn to whimper his name out, and the sound of it had his fingers moving faster. “P-Paul. I don’t—I can’t—”
“You can.” His forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot on her lips. “Let go,koukla mou.I’ve got you. Just let go.”
A broken cry escaped her.
And then...
Aaaaah.
Her whole world...exploded.
There was no other word for it.
One moment she was chasing something she couldn’t name, and the next she was shattering, her body arching against his, a crytearing from her throat that she couldn’t have stopped if she’d tried.
Wave after wave crashed through her.
Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. Her thighs clamped around his hand like she was trying to keep him there forever. Her entire body pulsed and throbbed and sang with something she had never known existed.
So this was what it felt like.
So this was what she’d been missing.
So this was why people ruined their lives for it.
Through it all, his hand kept moving. Slower now. Gentler. Drawing out every last tremor, every last aftershock, until she was wrung dry and trembling in his arms.
And then she collapsed.
Just...folded against his chest like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Her cheek pressed to the expensive wool of his suit. Her breath came in ragged, broken gasps. Her heart hammered so hard she was sure he could feel it against his chest.
Her body was heavy.
So heavy.
Like every bone had turned to honey.
Her brain was fuzzy.
Wrapped in cotton.
Unable to form a single coherent thought beyond...his name.
Paul. Paul. Paul.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, boneless and floating, listening to the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear. His hand had stilled between her thighs but hadn’t moved away, and she was too dazed to feel embarrassed about that.
Too dazed to feel anything except...
Grateful?
