"Tell me how it feels," he commands, his voice hoarse.
"Perfect," I manage, wrapping my legs around his waist to take him deeper. "Like you were made for me."
He groans, picks up the pace. The headboard knocks against the wall, syncing with the rhythm of the storm outside. One of the candles flickers, casting dancing shadows across his face.
Suddenly, he stills. "Turn over."
His tone leaves no room for argument, and honestly, I don't want to resist. I roll onto my stomach, and his hands instantly lift my hips, positioning me on my knees.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, his palms skating over the curves of my ass, down my thighs. "Look at you, offering yourself to me like a gift."
I expect him to thrust hard, to take what he's been waiting for. Instead, he enters me with aching slowness, every inch deliberate. He feels impossibly deep, hits places that make stars burst behind my eyelids.
"That's it," he encourages, maintaining a steady pace. "Let me hear you."
Was I moaning?
His hands explore my body, appreciating every curve, every inch of skin, and sounds slip from my throat involuntarily.
"I knew you'd feel this good," he says, one hand sliding around to cup my breast, thumbing the nipple. "From the moment I saw you, I knew you'd take me like this."
Every word, every thrust, rewires something within me.
I've built my life carefully, deliberately, so, I can choose excitement and passion. Books have been my adventure, my escape from the ordinary. I've told myself that was enough—that the kind of all-consuming desire I read about was just fantasy, just fiction. But this—the way my body responds to his, the way he seems to know exactly what I need before I do—this— feels like stepping into one of those stories.
Like discovering a truth I've been reading about but never quite believed.
With Brian, I don't want to hold back. I want to be too much. I want to overwhelm him the way he's overwhelming me.
This isn't just sex—this is paradigm-shifting. I've never felt so desired, so completely seen.
"Such a good girl," he murmurs, his other hand sliding down the swell of my stomach, reaching between my legs to find my center. "So wet for me."
His fingers circle my clit, perfectly in sync with his thrusts. I'm climbing toward another peak faster than I thought possible.
"Brian," I gasp, pushing back against him. "I'm close."
"Come for me again," he demands. "I need to feel you come around my cock."
His fingers work faster, his thrusts more demanding. The dual sensations send me spiraling, crying out as pleasure crashes through me like the wind battering my windows. I clench around him and wave after wave of release pulses through my body.
"Fuck, Noa!" he roars. His rhythm falters as he follows me over the edge. His hands grip my hips bruisingly tight as he empties himself, my name a prayer on his lips.
As my arms give out, he follows me down to the mattress, careful to keep his weight from crushing me. We lie there, panting, his chest pressed against my back, his heart pounding against my spine.
Around us, the candles flicker low, their tiny flames battling the darkness.
Brian presses a kiss between my shoulder blades, then gently rolls us onto our sides, still connected, his arms wrapped securely around me. I revel in the sensation of his soft, hairy limbs against my body.
"Are you okay?" he whispers into my hair.
"More than okay," I murmur, lacing my fingers with his. "I feel like... I don't know. Like something's changed."
He's quiet for a long moment, his breathing steady against my back. "I know what you mean."
The candles flicker, one by one, surrendering to the darkness, yet I don't feel afraid. Here, in Brian's arms, I've discovered a different kind of light.
Chapter 7
