“Yes,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promised, his lips brushing my ear. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anyone but me.”
He released my wrists to trail his fingers down my body, tracing the curve of my breast, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hip. I kept my hands where he’d placed them, understanding the unspoken command. His touch was both reverent and possessive, marking each inch of skin as his.
When he finally reached the apex of my thighs, I was already embarrassingly wet. His fingers slid through my folds with ease, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that made my hips buck.
“So wet,” he murmured approvingly. “Is this all for me, Evelyn?”
“Yes,” I gasped as he circled my clit with torturous precision. “Only you.”
“Good girl.” His praise sent another rush of heat through me. “I want you to remember who makes you this wet. Who makes you feel this good.”
He slipped a finger inside me, then another, stretching me slowly as his thumb continued to work my clit. The dual sensation had me writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
“Please,” I begged, forgetting his order for silence. “I need?—“
“I know exactly what you need,” he interrupted, curling his fingers to hit that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. “And I’ll give it to you. But not until you’re right on the edge,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
His thumb circled my clit as his fingers worked inside me, finding that perfect rhythm that had my hips rising to meet each stroke. My body tensed, pleasure building with each expert touch, and just when I thought I might shatter, he withdrew completely.
I whimpered at the loss, my eyes flying open to find his face hovering above mine, his expression a mix of hunger and control.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “I want to be inside you when you come.”
He shifted his weight, positioning himself between my thighs. I felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing but not entering. The anticipation was exquisite torture.
“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice rough with need. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” I breathed, hands still obediently above my head. “God, Trent, I’ve always wanted you.”
He pushed forward then, entering me in one slow, controlled thrust that had us both gasping. The stretch and fullness were overwhelming, my body accommodating his size with a pleasure that bordered on pain. When he was fully seated inside me, he paused, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
“You feel incredible,” he groaned. “So tight, so perfect.”
I wanted to touch him, to run my hands down his back, to pull him closer, but I remembered his command and kept my arms where they were. He noticed and rewarded me with an approving smile that sent warmth blooming in my chest.
“You can touch me now,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.
My hands flew to his shoulders before I remembered his injury. I carefully avoided his left side, instead trailing my fingers down his right arm, feeling the muscles flex as he heldhimself above me. His skin was hot to the touch, slick with a fine sheen of sweat that made him glow in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
He began to move then, setting a deliberate pace—deep, measured thrusts that hit exactly where I needed him. Each stroke sent pleasure spiraling through me, building higher with every rock of his hips. I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle just enough to make him hit that perfect spot inside me.
“Yes,” I gasped, forgetting to be quiet. “Right there.”
He covered my mouth with his hand, his eyes locked on mine. “Shh,” he reminded me. “Can’t wake Sophia.”
The thought of my daughter sleeping in the next room should have doused my desire, but somehow it only intensified the forbidden nature of what we were doing. I nodded against his palm, promising silence. He replaced his hand with his mouth, swallowing my moans as he increased his pace.
The pressure was building again, that familiar tightening low in my belly. I dug my nails into his back, trying to ground myself as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm me. He must have felt it, the way my body tensed around him, because he slipped a hand between us, finding my clit with unerring precision.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. “Let go, Evelyn. I’ve got you.”
His words pushed me over the edge. My release crashed through me in waves, my body clenching around him as stars exploded behind my closed eyelids. I bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, tasting salt and skin as pleasure consumed me.
He followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep inside me. I felt the pulse of his release, the way his entire body tensed above me before slowly relaxing. For along moment, we stayed like that, connected and breathless, his weight a welcome anchor.
Finally, he shifted to the side, careful of his injured shoulder, pulling me against his chest. The narrow bed barely fit both of us, forcing our bodies to press together from shoulder to ankle. I didn’t mind. After months of emptiness, of cold sheets and silent rooms, the solid warmth of him felt like coming home.
