"I need to see all of you," he says.
I stand long enough to shed the rest of my clothes, watching his face as I reveal myself to him. The hunger in his expression makes heat pool between my thighs. When I reach for his waistband, his hips lift to help me drag his pants down, and then he's bare beneath me, hard and ready.
I straddle his thighs, careful to keep my weight off his injured side, and his palms slide up to grip my hips immediately. The head of his cock presses against my slick folds, and we both groan at the contact.
"I want to taste you," he rasps. "Want my mouth on you."
"Next time." I wrap my hand around his length, stroking slowly, watching his jaw clench with the effort of holding still. "Right now I need you inside me."
I position him at my entrance and sink down slowly, inch by inch, savoring the stretch as he fills me. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to bruise, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a prayer.
"God, Reagan. You're so wet. So tight."
I plant my hands on his chest for leverage and start to move, rolling my hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Every thrust sendssparks of pleasure radiating through me, and I watch his face as I ride him, drinking in every expression of desperate want.
"Faster," he demands, his voice wrecked.
I obey, rising and falling with increasing urgency. The wet sound of our bodies coming together fills the room, punctuated by gasps and moans neither of us tries to suppress. His hands roam my body restlessly, squeezing my breasts, gripping my ass, pulling me down harder onto his cock.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "I want to feel you come around me."
I slide one hand between us, fingers finding my clit, and the added sensation makes me cry out. The orgasm builds with every thrust, coiling tighter and tighter until I'm balanced on the edge of release.
"That's it," Dylan breathes, watching me work myself closer. "Let me see you fall apart."
His hips buck up to meet mine despite the wound, driving deeper, and I shatter. The orgasm tears through me in waves, and I clench around him so hard that he follows me over the edge moments later, spilling inside me with a groan that sounds like it was ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
I collapse against his uninjured side, both of us breathing hard. His arm wraps around me with a possessiveness that makes my heart ache. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, slowing as exhaustion pulls him toward sleep.
"This is more than I expected," he murmurs. "More than I thought I could have again."
"Good." I press a kiss to his chest. "You deserve more."
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "If Khalid wants to testify, I won't stop him."
"I know."
"But I'll be right there beside him. Every step. Every question. He won't face it alone."
"None of us will."
His arm tightens around me, and I feel the moment when sleep finally claims him, the tension draining from his body as unconsciousness pulls him under.
I stay awake longer, listening to the quiet sounds of the lodge around us. Footsteps in the hallway as someone keeps watch. The crackle of the fire in the main room. The wind against the windows.
And something else. A soft knock at the door.
I slip out of bed carefully, pulling on enough clothes to be decent, and crack the door open.
Khalid stands in the hallway, his young face serious in the low light.
"Khalid." I keep my voice low. "What is it?"
"I want to do it." His voice is quiet but steady. "The testimony. I want to tell them what happened."
"Khalid—"
"They killed my family." His voice doesn't waver, doesn't break, but his shoulders are rigid with the effort of holding himself together. "My mother. My father. My sisters. Everyone in my village. And no one knows their names. No one remembers they existed."
