"Then do it," I whisper. "Show me what that feels like."
He kisses me again—soft, then softer, until I'm drowning in the sweetness of it. His hands explore my body with aching slowness, learning every curve and hollow, every scar and secret place. When his fingers find the hardened skin on my hips—the contamination spreading, transforming me—he doesn't flinch away. Just traces the texture with his fingertips like he's memorizing it.
Like he's accepting it.
His mouth follows his hands. Kissing down my throat, my collarbone, the slope of my breast. Taking my nipple between his lips and sucking until I arch off the bed, a moan tearing from my throat, fingers tangling in his hair. He lavishes attention on one breast, then the other—licking, sucking, grazing his teeth across the sensitive peaks until I'm writhing beneath him, my cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for something to fill it.
"Please—" I don't even know what I'm begging for.
"I've got you." He kisses lower, across my belly, my hip, the crease of my thigh. His breath ghosts over my cunt—swollen and slick, aching for him—and I feel myself clench again, feel more wetness seep out of me.
When his tongue touches me I nearly come apart.
The first lick is slow, deliberate—a long stroke from my entrance to my clit that makes my whole body shudder. He groans against me like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted, and the vibration sends sparks shooting up my spine.
"Fuck, you're sweet." His tongue circles my clit, then dips lower to lap at my entrance. "Could eat this pretty cunt for hours."
He slides two fingers inside me while his mouth works my clit—thick fingers that curve to find that spot, that perfect spot, pressing and stroking while his tongue flicks and circles. The pleasure builds in waves, each one cresting higher than the last, my thighs trembling on either side of his head.
"Rhystan—" His name comes out broken. "I'm going to?—"
"That's it." He pumps his fingers faster, sucks my clit between his lips. "Come on my tongue. Let me taste it."
The orgasm crashes through me, my back bowing off the bed, my cunt clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses. He works me through it, licking and stroking, drawing out the pleasure until I'm shaking and over-sensitive and pushing at his head because it's too much, too good, I can't take any more.
He kisses his way back up my body, his chin slick with me, his eyes dark with want. When he kisses my mouth I taste myself on his lips—salt and musk and something sweeter underneath.
"Need you inside me," I gasp against his lips. "Need your cock. Now."
"I know." He positions himself at my entrance, the thick head nudging through slick. Pauses there, meeting my eyes. "This is different. What we're doing. It's not just the heat."
"I know."
"I need you to know that I—" He stops, struggling with words. "This matters to me. You matter to me."
"You matter to me too." The admission costs something, but it's worth it for the way his expression softens, the way hope flickers in his dark eyes. "Now stop talking and fuck me."
He slides into me in one long, slow stroke.
The stretch is exquisite—his cock forcing me open inch by inch, thick and hot and hard as iron, filling the emptiness my heat has been screaming about for hours. I feel every ridge and vein dragging against my swollen inner walls, feel the blunt head pushing deeper until he's seated fully, his hips flush against mine, his cock so deep I swear I can feel it behind my navel.
His face above me is wrecked—eyes black as pitch, no gold remaining, pupils blown so wide they've swallowed everything. His jaw is clenched tight, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble, and sweat beads at his temples from the effort of holding still.The smell of him surrounds me—smoke and stone and the dark musk of arousal, cedar and something wild underneath that makes my hindbrain purr with recognition. Alpha. Mine.
"Okay?" he asks, voice strained.
"More than okay." I wrap my legs around him, heels digging into his ass, pulling him impossibly deeper. "Move."
He does.
Long, slow thrusts that drag his cock through my clenching cunt, the friction sending waves of heat radiating outward from my core. His shoulders bunch and flex above me with each stroke, the muscles in his arms standing out in sharp relief where he braces himself, caging me in warmth and strength. I run my hands up those arms, feeling the power coiled beneath his skin, the iron control it takes for him to move this slowly when I can feel through the bond how badly he wants to rut into me like an animal.
Nothing like the brutal pace of our previous encounters—this is deliberate, measured, each stroke designed to make me feel every inch of him. He pulls back until just the head remains inside me, stretching my entrance, then slides home again in one fluid motion that punches the breath from my lungs.
"You're so wet." His voice is wrecked, reverent. "So hot inside. Like you're trying to melt me."
"I might be." I dig my nails into his shoulders, leaving crescents in his skin. "Don't stop."
He doesn't stop.
