"You're beautiful," she says, and means it. “Not the scars, not the damage, but the whole package. The man who chose to protect instead of destroy, who pulled a kid out of Syria and gave him a future.”
Her mouth follows where her hands led, kissing down my chest, my abdomen. When she reaches my waist, she looks up at me, eyes dark with intent. "My turn."
"Reagan—"
"Let me." Her hand wraps around me, and the sensation is electric. "You take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you."
She takes me in her mouth, and my hips jerk involuntarily. Her tongue works me with deliberate skill, finding the rhythm that makes my breath come short. I thread my fingers throughher hair, not controlling, just contact, grounding myself in the sensation.
She hums around me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. Takes me deeper, and I have to fight the urge to thrust. Her hand works what her mouth can't take, a perfect coordination that has me white-knuckling the sheets.
"Reagan." Her name comes out strangled. "I'm close."
She doesn't stop. Increases her pace instead, doubling down, and the edge rushes up faster than I can control. My orgasm hits hard, and she takes everything, swallows, then slowly releases me with a satisfied sound.
When she crawls back up my body, she's smiling. "Better?"
"You have no idea."
"Oh, I think I do." She kisses me, and I taste myself on her lips.
I roll us, reversing positions, pinning her beneath me. Her hair spreads across the pillow, dark and wild. "My turn."
Her remaining clothes disappear quickly. Her jeans, her underwear, until there's nothing between us but skin and want. I kiss down her throat, her collarbone, lower. She threads her fingers through my hair, guiding me, encouraging me. When I reach her breasts, I take my time, learning what makes her breath hitch, what makes her moan. Her nipples are sensitive, darkening under my attention, and she makes desperate sounds when I use my teeth.
"Dylan." My name is a plea. "Please."
"Please what?" I move lower, kissing across her ribs, her stomach. "Use your words."
"You know what I want." She's breathing hard, her body taut with anticipation. "Stop teasing."
"Not teasing. Enjoying."
I settle between her thighs, kissing the soft skin there. The first touch of my tongue makes her cry out. She's already wet,ready, and the taste of her is addictive. I work her slowly, learning her responses, finding the rhythm that makes her hips buck and her hands fist in the sheets.
"Oh god." She's panting now, thighs trembling. "Dylan, I'm going to?—"
"Do it." I increase pressure, add fingers, and she breaks apart with a sound that's half sob. The orgasm rolls through her in waves, and I hold her through it, gentle now, letting her ride it out.
When she comes back to herself, her eyes are dark with satisfaction and renewed hunger. "Get up here."
I move back up her body, and she kisses me hard, tasting herself on my lips. Her hand wraps around me, stroking with practiced confidence. Heat builds fast.
"Reagan." Her name comes out rough. "Slow down or this ends too fast."
"Then don't go slow." She guides me to her entrance, and the heat is overwhelming. "I want you. Now."
I push inside slowly, giving her time to adjust, and she's tight and wet and perfect. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and we both groan.
"Move." She digs her nails into my back. "Dylan, please move."
I start slow, but slow doesn't last. The need is too great, the intensity too high. Our rhythm builds quickly, bodies finding synchronization that feels like it's always existed. She meets me thrust for thrust, taking everything I give and demanding more.
"Harder." She's gasping, eyes locked on mine. "I need harder."
I give her what she wants, and the sound she makes is pure satisfaction. Her second orgasm builds fast—she tightens around me, movements turning desperate.
"Come with me." She pulls my mouth down to hers. "Don't hold back."
