He was still inside her. Not just in the way that mattered, but in all the ways that did. Breath against her throat. Hands at her waist. The heat of him still pulsing through her like an aftershock that refused to fade.
And then, because it wasn’t over, not yet, he started to move again.
Slow. Deep.
Because once wasn’t enough.
Not for him.
Not for her.
Not when they were finally laid bare, no distance left between them, and every inch of her body had already learned to answer his like a prayer.
Then something shifted.
A flicker. A twitch of muscle beneath her palms. The tension that had unraveled moments ago began to coil again. Low. Sharp. Like a storm regrouping in the calm.
His fingers skimmed up her thigh and dragged through the sweat-slicked heat between them like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go.
And then his mouth. Lower now. Slower.
He kissed the center of her chest like it had wronged him. Teeth. Tongue. Wild. No restraint. No caution. Only him and the wreckage of what she’d given him, and the greed to take more.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice gravel-soft and reverent all at once, nose grazing the underside of her breast as his hand slid up her ribs.
“Not cold,” she whispered.
That was all it took.
He surged up, mouth crashing into hers—not gentle this time, not tender. This kiss was a possession and a claiming. A firestorm unleashed beneath fragile skin. His fingers fisted in her hair, tugging her head back to bare her throat, and his mouth was there a second later—biting, tasting. He groaned as her hips lifted to meet his on instinct.
Her legs wrapped around him instinctively; her ankles locked at the base of his spine as if she could keep him there forever. His name spilled from her lips again, but this time, her voice was hoarse, low, and entirely unguarded.
He didn’t make her wait.
He was already hard again, and the second she shifted beneath him, inviting and aching, he found her. No warning. No pause.
Just the desperate sound they both made when he sank back into her, hot and deep and too much, too soon, but not enough.
Not nearly enough.
Her back arched, body bowing off the mattress, hands scrambling for purchase—his arms, his shoulders, the slick curve of his neck. She needed something to hold onto. He gave her everything.
They moved together like instinct, like war and worship wrapped in the same breath. There were no slow thrusts, no easing in—just rhythm, friction, and the raw, brutal beauty of two people who knew exactly how they fit and were too far gone to pretend they didn’t need it.
He pressed his forehead to hers, breath ragged. One hand fisted the sheets beside her head.
“Look at me.”
She did.
And what she saw, holy hell, it broke something open. Because he wasn’t in control anymore. He was completely undone, and he wanted her to see it.
His hips snapped harder, dragging a gasp from her throat as she clung to him. Her fingers dug helplessly into his back. Her lips brushed his jaw, whispering nothing and everything all at once.
She met him thrust for thrust. Her nails left red marks down his spine as she tried to ground herself. Her moans caught on every breath. “Gideon,” she gasped, again and again, like the sound of his name might keep her from unraveling too fast.
But unravel she did.
