He spills into me with a cry, and I follow, clenching around him, shaking with the force of it, eyes locked on his as we fall together. And when it’s over, when we’re nothing but tangled limbs and wrecked sighs and pulsing skin, I collapse on top of him, laughing into the curve of his shoulder.
His hand drifts lazily up my spine, holding me close like he’s not ready to let me go.
And honestly?
Neither am I.
He groans, arms locking around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “You’re tryin’ to kill me.”
“I told you I liked to be on top,” I murmur, lips brushing the hollow of his throat before I kiss him there open-mouthed, just to feel the way his pulse kicks under my tongue.
“And damn if you didn’t deliver,” he rasps, voice wrecked and breathless. “I may never recover.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I say with a smirk, lifting my head just enough to meet his gaze. “You loved it.”
He smirks right back, his eyes hooded and lazy with satisfaction, but gleaming with something darker. Hotter. “Loved every second. Especially the part where you said my name like a prayer.”
I swat his chest, half flustered, half turned on. But he catches my wrist before I land the hit, and in one fluid motion, he flips us until I’m under him again, pinned by muscle and a look that says we’re not even close to done.
“Still got some fight left in you?” he murmurs, dragging his nose along my jaw, voice thick with promise and pure sin.
“Maybe.” I shift beneath him just enough to make him hiss, my grin lazy and defiant. “Why? You planning a rematch?”
His grin turns downright feral. “Oh, darlin’. I don’t believe in rematches.”
My breath hitches.
Then he leans in, kisses me once before trailing his mouth down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. So slow I could scream.
“You’re playing with fire,” I whisper, equal parts giddy and desperate.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, pupils blown wide, voice rough silk. “Good thing I burn real slow.”
And then he kisses me again, deeper this time, with a heat that feels like it’s been banked for years, waiting for this exact moment to ignite.
His hand slides down the outside of my thigh, gripping it and hitching it over his hip, locking us together again like he needs me close. Like he can’t stand a single breath of space between us.
He thrusts against me, slow and deep, not inside yet, but close. Just enough pressure to make me whimper and cling to his shoulders.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he mutters into my skin, his mouth trailing heat across the curve of my neck, down to the place that makes me shiver.
“You’re one to talk,” I gasp, nails digging into his back.
“You started it.”
“You showed up in a towel.”
“And you took it off.”
That earns a breathless laugh from me just before he grinds against me again, slow and ruthless, dragging a moan from deep in my chest. My head falls back, and he kisses down my throat again.
“Still not sorry,” I breathe, barely able to form the words.
“You better not be.”
Then he reaches down, guiding himself against my entrance, teasing me with the thick head of his cock before slowly pushing in inch by torturous inch until I’m full again, stretched and pulsing around him.
This time, it’s slower. More controlled. But no less intense. If anything, it’s worse because now he’s watching me. Every flicker of pleasure across my face. Every soft gasp, every whispered curse, every arch of my back.
