I pull almost all the way out and pound back in, and the sound she makes—high and surprised—nearly kills me.
"Like that?" I do it again, harder this time. “Is that what you want, baby girl?”
"Yes!" She's clinging to me, meeting every thrust, and Christ, she's so responsive, so eager, so completely mine in this moment.
I set a rhythm that's probably too rough and intense, but she's matching me stroke for stroke, demanding everything I can give her.
The bed frame creaks beneath us, the rusty springs squeaking, but I don't care if we break the bed. I’ll buy another to replace it. All I care about is the way she feels beneath me, around my cock, the sounds she makes every time I hit deep.
"You know how often I’ve thought about bending you over every fucking surface in my parents’ house?" I growl against her neck.
"Harlon—" My name is a gasp.
“You. Drove. Me. Insane.” I punctuate each word with a thrust.
"I wore that sea green sundress—oh god—on purpose,” she confesses between moans. "Saw you looking once. Wanted to make you look again."
The admission nearly ends me. "You little tease."
Her hands slide into my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. "I did it to piss you off. Cause I thought you hated me."
I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. "I hated that I couldn't have you. Hated watching Jayce touch you when I couldn’t."
She's tightening even more around me, her whole body tensing in that way that means she's close. I adjust the angle, trying to go deeper.
"That's it, baby. Come around my lucky cock, my sweet girl."
Her response is immediate—back bowing, a cry tearing from her throat as she clenches around me like an iron fist.
"Harlon!"
The sight of her coming undone beneath me, the feel of her pulsing around my cock, breaks me completely open. I thrust twice more, hard, and follow her over the edge with a groan that comes from somewhere deep in my soul.
My orgasm sparks like wildfire, pleasure burning through every nerve in my body so intense my arms nearly give out. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, feeling her heart thunder against mine as we both tremble through the aftershocks.
We lie there tangled together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat despite the cold air. I'm probably crushing her, but I can't seem to make my muscles cooperate.
"Holy shit," she finally whispers.
I lift my head to look at her. Her hair is wild, lips swollen from my kisses, her brown eyes soft and satisfied.
She's never looked more beautiful.
"You said it,” I manage.
Then I see it—the flicker of doubt crossing her face. And something twists in my gut.
"Don't," I say before she can speak.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're about to say. Don't."
She studies my face for a moment, then reaches up and kisses me. Not desperate or demanding this time, but soft and sweet. The kind of kiss that feels like a promise I shouldn't be reading into.
When she pulls back, she's smiling. "I was just going to say we should probably clean up."
"Oh." Now, I feel like an idiot.
