16
KALEIGH
Iwake to the heat of him, a furnace against my back, his arm a heavy, possessive weight across my waist. His breath is a slow, even tide in my hair. For a long moment, I just exist in the warmth, in the solid reality of him wrapped around me. Then he stirs, his hips shifting, and I feel the hard length of him press against the curve of my back.
A soft groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating through me. His hand slides up from my waist, his palm rough and warm as it cups my breast through the thin linen. My breath hitches.
“Kaleigh.” My name is a prayer, a question, a command on his lips.
I twist in his arms, turning to face him. His eyes are dark, the wildness in them banked to a smolder. He doesn’t speak again. He just lowers his mouth to mine, and the kiss is not gentle. It’s a claiming, deep and consuming, all tongue and heat and desperate need. I arch into him, my hands sliding into his dirty-blond hair, pulling him closer.
He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my throat, his teeth grazing my pulse point. His hands are everywhere, pushingthe worn sheet aside, peeling my simple shift up and over my head.
The morning air is cool on my skin, but it’s nothing against the fire he lights with his touch. He worships my body with his mouth, his tongue circling a nipple before drawing it deep, his hand skating down my stomach to the heat between my legs.
I cry out when his fingers find me, already wet and aching for him. He strokes me, a slow, torturous rhythm that has me bucking against his hand.
“Please, Rafe.”
He shifts over me, his weight a glorious pressure. He braces himself on one arm, his other hand guiding himself to my entrance. The broad head of his cock presses against me, and we both go still for a shattered second, eyes locked. This is it. No turning back.
He pushes his cock inside.
A gasp tears from my throat at the stretch, the perfect, filling fullness. He sinks into me with a low, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt. For a moment, he just stays there, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling, our bodies fused.
Then he moves.
It’s not a rhythm; it’s a storm. He withdraws almost completely and slams back in, a driving, relentless pace that steals the air from my lungs. I wrap my legs around his waist, locking my ankles at the small of his back, meeting every thrust with a roll of my hips. The old mattress creaks beneath us, a frantic counterpoint to the slap of skin on skin.
His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my moans. He shifts us, rolling so I’m straddling him, not breaking our connection for a second. The new angle is deeper, more intense. I ride him, my hands braced on his chest, my head thrown back as sensation builds, coiling tight and hot low in my belly.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. His eyes are locked on mine, dark with a reverence that undoes me completely.
“Mine,” he rasps, the word raw and fractured.
“Yours,” I breathe back, the truth of it shattering through me as my climax breaks. I convulse around him, a silent scream on my lips as pleasure whites out my vision.
My body goes limp, a boneless heap against his chest, my breathing a ragged, spent thing. I feel his cock pulse inside me, still hard, still full. He holds me there for a long moment, his hands running up and down my back in slow, soothing strokes.
“I’m not done with you,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice a low vibration against my skin.
Before I can form a protest, he’s moving, sliding out of me with a soft, wet sound that makes me gasp. He guides me onto my back, his movements deliberate, almost reverent. He kisses his way down my body—my collarbone, the swell of my breast, the flat plane of my stomach. His lips are soft, a contrast to the earlier ferocity.
He settles between my thighs, his big hands spreading my legs wider. He lowers his mouth to my pussy, and his tongue finds my clit in one long, slow, devastating lick.
I cry out, my back arching off the bed. My nerves are still screaming from the first orgasm, oversensitive and raw. He doesn’t relent. His tongue circles my clit, firm and knowing, then flicks over it with a precision that steals the air from my lungs. One of his hands slides down, two fingers slipping back inside me, curling upward.
“Rafe… I can’t… it’s too much.”
He answers by sucking my clit into his mouth, his fingers pressing deep inside me, finding that spot that makes my vision blur. The dual sensation is overwhelming, a relentlesstide pulling me under again. My hips buck against his mouth, a helpless, involuntary rhythm.
I fist my hands in the sheets, a low moan tearing from my throat. He works me with his mouth and fingers, a steady, building pressure until the coil snaps again, a sharp, blinding wave of pleasure that crashes over me. I shudder beneath him, my entire body clenching around his fingers as I come apart a second time.
He moves over me again, his weight a shelter. His cock slides back into my wetness, a homecoming that makes us both groan. He sets a new rhythm, deep and steady, each thrust a promise. I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers tracing the tense cords of muscle there. I press my palm flat against the base of his skull, a gentle, steadying pressure.
His rhythm falters for a single, staggering breath. A low, broken sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a surrender. The wild, frantic energy that always crackles around him like a live wire just… vanishes. The tension drains from his shoulders, his movements becoming less a frantic claiming and more a deep, worshipful joining. He buries his face in the nape of my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
“Kaleigh.” It’s a whisper now, stripped raw.
