“Halfway?” she squeaks, her eyes wide.
I huff out a chuckle, which becomes a moan when she clenches around me.
I rock a fraction, and her breath breaks.
She wraps her legs around my waist. “More,” she huffs. “Please.”
I withdraw and thrust inside again—deeper this time. She’s slick from her earlier climax, which helps to ease my path, but it still takes several slow, patient thrusts before I fill her completely, seated as deep as I can go.
We both go still.
My forehead drops to her shoulder. I need a second to remember how to speak.
“Okay?” I grit out.
“Yes,” she says, teary and laughing. “Oh, yes, Wyatt. This feels so right.”
I pull back an inch and sink in again. My body lights up like a constellation. I keep it slow even as my control threatens to fray, hips rolling in a perfect tempo, each stroke a promise, writing my name into her like scripture.
“Look at me,” I command gently.
Her breath shudders when our eyes meet, like the sight of me looking back undoes her more than anything else we’re doing. We stay there, breathing the same air, letting our heartbeats find each other in the quiet.
“Still with me?” I murmur.
“I’m here,” she whispers, her eyes soft and deep. “I want this. I want you.”
I kiss her again, memorizing the moment cell by cell. My hand finds hers, and I lace our fingers together, anchoring us both. I let her set the rhythm with that simple link—her hand tightening when she needs closeness, loosening when she needs space to breathe.
She looks at me with a reverence that makes my chest ache. I watch her face more than anything else, searching for every flicker of emotion, adjusting to each one like it’s my compass. When something shifts inside her—too much, too fast—I pause without her needing to say a word. I kiss my shoulder, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, grounding her in the moment.
“You’re doing so well,” I whisper. “Breathe with me.”
We breathe together—slow inhale, slower exhale. Her body loosens again. The tension is replaced with warmth, with a belonging so foreign that I almost don’t recognize it as mine.
She lifts her hand to my cheek, thumb tracing the rough edge of stubble. “Wyatt…”
I kiss her palm. “I’ve got you.”
I thrust in and out, slowly at first, then deeper. Harder. Too much and not enough. She grips my neck and lifts her hips to meet each plunge. I adjust the angle so my pelvic bone drags across her swollen clit. She gasps, squeezing and rippling around me.
My voice is a growl. “There?”
“Yes!” she sobs. “Don’t… stop.”
I groan. Quicken my pace. “You’re taking me so deep. So fucking deep.”
Her climax hits unexpectedly, her face painted with pleasure.
My name leaves her mouth like a confession and a homecoming, making me feel found. Held. Seen.
My hips stutter, and I release a long, low groan into her neck as I spill inside her. I shake and tremble as I fall half on top of her. She cradles my head against her breasts, stroking my back as the tension eases from my muscles.
I stay right there, not moving, not letting the moment collapse. After a minute, I shift my weight so she doesn’t feel trapped, one hand smoothing up her spine, the other threading our fingers together.
“You okay?” I ask unsteadily.
Sadie nods against my shoulder. “I’m more than okay.”
