The orgasm crashes through me, stealing my breath, my vision going white. I have to bite down on my hand to keep from crying out, and through it all, he doesn't stop. Just works me through it, his fingers pumping slowly, his tongue gentler now as I ride out every last tremor.
When I finally come back to myself, gasping, he's kissing his way up my body. My hip. My stomach. The underside of my breast. I can taste myself on his lips when he kisses me, and it's somehow the most erotic thing I've ever experienced.
But I need more. Need to give him what he's given me.
"My turn," I whisper against his mouth.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." I push at his shoulders until he rolls onto his back, and I follow him, kissing down his chest. "You’re always taking care of me. Now it’s my turn."
His breathing gets heavier as I trail kisses down his stomach, feeling the muscles contract under my lips. When I reach the hard length of his cock, I look up, making sure he's watching.
His eyes are dark, hungry, his jaw tight with restraint.
I wrap my hand around him first, learning the weight and heat of him. He's thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. I stroke him slowly, watching his reaction.
"Isabella." His voice is strained. "You're killing me."
I lean down and lick the tip, tasting him. Salt and musk and him.
He groans, his hips jerking involuntarily.
I take him slowly into my mouth, as much as I can, and his hand flies to my hair. Not forcing, just holding on. Like he needs the anchor.
"God, your mouth." He's breathing hard now, trying to stay still. "So perfect. So good."
I work him with my mouth and hand together, finding a rhythm. Taking him deeper, then pulling back to focus on the sensitive head. Using my tongue in ways that make him curse and grip the sheets.
When I hollow my cheeks and suck hard, his whole body tenses.
"Isabella, I'm close. If you don't want—"
But I don't stop. I want this. Want to give him this release after everything he's done for us today.
"Please," he grits out. "I need to be inside you.” He pulls me off him and rolls us so he's on top, already positioning himself between my legs.
"Yes." I'm already aching for him again, my body ready despite the orgasm he just gave me.
"Look at me," he says.
Our eyes lock as he pushes inside. Slowly at first, letting me feel every inch as he stretches me, fills me. The sensation is overwhelming, bordering on too much but not quite.
"Okay?" His voice is strained with the effort of holding still.
"More than okay." I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper. "Don't hold back. I need all of you."
We both groan as he seats himself fully. For a moment, we just stay like that. Connected. Breathing together. His forehead pressed to mine.
Then he moves.
The first thrust is deep and hard, and I arch off the bed, meeting him. He sets a punishing rhythm, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place while he takes me. And I let him. Give myself over to it. To him.
This isn't sweet lovemaking. This is need. Raw and desperate. Both of us trying to forget what happened today. Trying to affirm that we're alive, that we survived, that we have this.
"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough. "I want to feel you come around me."
I slide my hand between us, finding my clit, and the added stimulation makes my whole body tighten. He feels it, groans, and somehow manages to thrust deeper.
