I keep going anyway, slow, teasing, using my hand and mouth together the way I know will undo him.
His breath gets ragged. “Annabelle… baby… stop, I want...”
I pull back, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. “You want?”
He sits up in one motion and kisses me hard. “You. Now.”
He flips us so fast I yelp and he laughs into my neck.
Then he settles between my thighs and pushes into me in one smooth, deep stroke, and the sound I make would get me arrested in several states.
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Bryce, more. I need more.”
His forehead drops to my shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.”
He moves slowly at first, deep and steady, his body pressed to mine, his breath hot against my skin.
And then he hooks his arm beneath my knee, lifting it, opening me wider.
Not rough.
Not showy.
Just… intimate.
I start to pant, clinging to his back. “Do that again.”
He does.
And the new angle is obscene, in the best possible way. My legs are nearly above my head.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
He does, eyes dark and blown, and the room disappears.
We move together, desperate and sure, like we’ve wanted this, not just the sex, butthis, for longer than either of us admitted.
“I’m close,” I whisper.
“Me too,” he groans, kissing me hard, messy, perfect. “Come with me, sweetheart.”
The word breaks meagain.
I fall apart with a cry, my whole body tightening around him. He buries his face in my neck, swearing as he follows, his hips stuttering, breath breaking.
We collapse together, tangled and shaking.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of our breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.
Eventually he rolls to his side, pulling me with him, tucking me against his chest like he’s afraid to let go.
“You okay?” he murmurs, kissing my hair.
I laugh, dazed. “Sir, I no longer possess bones.”
He smiles against my forehead. “Good.”
I trail my fingers down his chest. “If this is your idea of not making plans…”
