Every thrust is a claim, a promise, a breaking point, splintering logic and rebuilding it in his rhythm.
And I match him, move for move, gasp for gasp, offering my entire self for the taking.
He groans, low and a little broken. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”
His hips roll forward again, a punishing grind setting every nerve ending ablaze. His cock drags against every sensitive inch, stroking a place so deep I see stars. My walls flutter around him, greedy and desperate, and the sound it makes is filthy, wet, obscene. Sexy.
This is everything.
His thrusts build, measured, anchored, and devastating.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice frayed. “That’s what it’s like when someone’s made for you.”
And god help me, I believe him. Because I’ve never been filled like this. Never feltseenlike this. Never wanted more of someone I already had completely.
And still—it’s not enough. I wanteverything.
I wanthim.
His mouth is hot against my ear. “It’s not just sex with us, Rorie.”
My pulse kicks under his touch, every beat echoing where his fingers splay over my ribs. My nails rake across his chest, chasing the slick heat of his skin.
He thrusts deeper, and my gasp tears through the room, timed perfectly with his next words.
“It’s ruinous.”
Lips brush across the curve of my neck. He presses a kiss there. Then another. Then another.
“It rewires you,” he breathes, hips rolling into me in a rhythm that feels older than logic, deeper than language. “It burns through every thought… every breath… until the only thing that exists is this. Us.”
Another thrust. Another kiss. Each one slower. More deliberate. His hand teases over my breast, fingers tightening around my nipple with increasing intensity until I’m arching into him, shameless and starving.
“You crave it,” he whispers, his voice feathering kisses across my collarbone. “Just like I do.”
A pause. A heartbeat.
“It’s going to undo you, baby,” he says, a vow etched in gravel andheat. “I’m going to make damn sure of that. I will be the only man you ever want again.”
I feel him grow harder inside me.
“This—” he growls, pushing deeper, his breath ragged, “—this is what you do to me. You burn under my skin. You fucking incinerate me.”
And then?—
We fall.
Together. Breathless. Boneless. A tangle of limbs and sweat and trembling sighs.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not quiet.
It’s not just sex.
It’s surrender, wildfire and homecoming—an unmaking wrapped in the beauty of being seen, known, wanted.
Chosen.
