Edwina
Hishandsmovedoverme with a consuming purpose, tracing every inch as though he were shaping me out of the darkness itself. His touch wasn’t wandering, it was knowing, dismantling the walls I’d kept between myself and everything that could break me. The soft swells of my breasts that rose and fell with each frantic breath, the damp heat between my thighs that pulsed with a need I couldn’t deny. He knew exactly where to press, where to linger, drawing out sighs and whimpers that I didn’t recognize as my own. His palms slid upward, cupping my breasts fully now, thumb circling my nipples with a rhythm that made my back arch instinctively, the cool air contrasting with the fire he ignited.
“You’re responsive,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my skin as he leaned in closer, his breath warmon my neck. Then, with a hunger that made my pulse race, he added, “God, your tits are beautiful, as if they were made for my hands.” The words hit me with a spark, sending a flush across my chest as he squeezed gently, then harder, his mouth descending to one nipple, sucking it between his lips with a wet, insistent pull that made me gasp clutch at his shoulders.
He pressed me back against the cool, slick glass, perhaps the window of his office, distorted in this dream haze into something more ethereal. My spine bowing with every inhale as his body caged mine, a solid wall of heat and muscle that radiated an almost predatory hunger. His weight pinned me in place, grounding me in the moment even as the world around us blurred. His mouth trailed downward, kisses like brands along my jaw, my throat, my collarbone, each one leaving a trail of fire that made me shiver.
“And your body,” he continued, his voice husky with admiration, “it’s wonderful, every curve, every inch, like a goddamn masterpiece I can’t get enough of.” His words wrapped around me, fueling the ache building inside, making me feel desired in a way that was almost overwhelming.
I couldn’t see his face fully in the dim light, just glimpses that fueled my fantasies, the sharp line of his jaw set in determination, the dark gleam of his eyes that didn’t just look. They consumed, stripping away my layers until I was bare before him. His voice was a current threading through my ribs, deep and slow, filled with that raw heat that unraveled me piece by piece. “You feel it too, don’t you?” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as his hand slid down my side, tracing the dip of my waist. “This need — how your body responds to me.”
“God, yes,” I managed to breathe, my voice barely above a whisper, the admission slipping out unbidden as his fingers dipped lower, parting my thighs with firm pressure. I gasped,knees weakening, but he caught me effortlessly, his hand gripping my hip bruising force. Holding me open, vulnerable, with the kind of confidence that came from knowing he owned this moment. His touch was relentless now, fingers sliding through my folds, exploring with a precision that made my head spin.
“You don’t get to pretend with me,” he said, his tone commanding as he pushed two fingers inside me, curling them slowly to stroke that sensitive spot deep within. “I see what you try to hide, the way you get wet for me, how your body craves this.”
A whimper broke from my throat, raw and uncontrollable and I hated how it spurred him on, how his eyes darkened with satisfaction. His thumb found my clit, circling it with steady pressure that built the tension higher, his movements deliberate and skilled.
“That’s it,” he growled, his free hand roaming up to cup my breast again, thumb flicking over the hardened peak. “Let me her you. God, I could worship your body all night.”
The praise made me flush deeper, my hips bucking against his hand as waves of pleasure started to crest. His mouth crashed into mine. Hot, demanding, all teeth and raw intention. A kiss that didn’t seek permission but seized it, his tongue invading my mouth in a tangle that left me breathless. I kissed him back, with equal fervor, hard and desperate, my hunger matching his as my hands roamed his body, clutching at his shoulders, tangling in his hair, then tanking at his shirt until it tore open, baring the hard lines of his chest slick with sweat. I dragged my nails down his skin, feeling the muscles tense and ripple under my touch, and he groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating through me like an echo of my own need.
“I should ruin you,” he growled between kisses, breaking away just enough to lock eyes with me, his gaze intense. “I wantto make you come apart until you forget everything but this.” He punctuated his words with a third finger sliding inside me, stretching me further, his thumb unrelenting on my clit as he worked me toward the edge. “And your body is wonderful, so responsive, so mine to take.” The words were a caress, a command, pulling a moan from my lips that I couldn’t hold back.
“You already are,” I panted, voice breaking as I ground against him, the friction sending jolts of ecstasy through my nerves. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. With a swift, fluid motion, he lifted me higher against the glass, my legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself at my entrance. I felt the head of his cock teasing me, slick with my arousal, before he thrust in deep, filling me completely in one powerful stroke that stole my breath. The stretch was intense, a blend of sharp pleasure and fleeting pain that made me cry out, my body clenching around him as he held still for a moment, letting me adjust.
But he didn’t wait long. He began to move, slow at first, deep thrusts that hit every sensitive nerve, building to a rhythm that had me moaning incoherently. “That’s my girl,” he rasped, his hands gripping my hips to guide me, pulling me onto him harder. “Feel how perfectly you take me. Your body was made for this, for me.”
One hand slid up to my breast again, kneading it roughly as he leaned in to suck at my nipple, his words vibrating against my skin:
“Fucking beautiful, every part of you.”
The combination was overwhelming, the slide of him inside me, the slap of our bodies, the way his praises fueled the fire in my veins.
I couldn’t speak anymore, couldn’t think, only feel the relentless friction, the building pressure coiling in my belly like astorm ready to break. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his other gripping my thigh as he drove into me faster, harder, the glass cool against my back contrasting with the heat of our bodies.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with his own restraint. “I want to feel you shatter.” And I did, pleasure crashing around him as I cried out, nails digging into his skin.
He followed moments later, thrusting deep one last time with a guttural groan, spilling inside me as his grip tightened, holding us both in that suspended moment of release. In the aftermath, we stayed tangled, breathless, and slick.
He lifted his head just enough to look at me. Dark eyes. A storm in them.
“I should’ve stayed away,” he said.
“Then why didn’t you?” I whispered.
His answer had been a kiss, rough, desperate, more collision than consent, his hands tangling in my hair, my name torn from him as a curse.
And then—
I woke, heart hammering, breath caught between a gasp and a prayer. My skin was damp, sheets twisted tight around my legs as though I’d been wrestling with something that refused to let go. Dawn crept through the curtains in muted streaks of blue, brushing the room with that fragile stillness that always followed something unspoken.
A pulse throbbed behind my eyes, dull and unwavering, each beat echoing the remnants of what I’d felt. I lay there, fingers clutching the edge of the blanket, chasing the last traces of the dream before they slipped through my grasp, vanishing as steam fading against glass. He was still there. In the echo. In the ache. In the memory of his mouth and the weight of his body, in the things he’d whispered that my waking mind refused to name.
Hayden Stone. The man who had invaded not only my thoughts but the dark corners where I hid from myself.
I pushed upright slowly, pressing my palms against my temples until the room steadied. Images from the night before surfaced through the haze, the heat of the club, the stranger’s hand, Hayden’s voice cutting through it all, low and dangerous, anger caged just beneath his control. He had touched me, not with ownership but with intent, and I had let him.
