“You feel that?” he whispered, thrusting harder, hands tight on my hips, keeping me in place as if I was something precious he wasn’t letting go. “That’s mine. All of it. You give it to me.”
I nodded, voice gone, body trembling. “Yes. Yours.”
Something in me cracked open.
All the control I kept wrapped around me—gone. Every wall, every defense I’d ever held together by sheer force of will—it collapsed under the weight of him inside me, around me. His voice. His touch. The way he moved as if heknewme.
I wasn’t falling apart. I was giving in. And for the first time in my life, it was freedom.
Lyric shifted one hand from my hip and reached underneath me, fisting my cock with a firm, sure grip that made me cry out. He stroked me in time with his thrusts, relentless and overwhelming, dragging me higher with every pass of his hand.
“Let go,” he whispered. “It’s okay, Rio. I’ve got you. Let me have it.”
My body clenched, muscles seizing under the intensity. I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. I came hard, spilling into his hand, shaking as pleasure ripped through me, my vision white-edged and blinding.
I hardly had time to think before Lyric grunted, deep and raw, and drove into me one final time. His hips stuttered, the heat of his orgasm flooding thecondom as he clung to me, forehead pressed to the back of my neck.
We stayed like that, panting, sweat-slick, and trembling, and then Lyric chuckled. “Wow,” he managed, breathing heavily.
Wow. Yeah.
He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, pressed against my back, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine. I could feel every inch of him—heat, breadth, weight—and I didn’t want him to move. Not yet.
Slowly, he pulled out, and I hissed at the sudden emptiness. My body ached, used and spent, but it wasn’t pain I felt. It was something deeper. Quieter.
Lyric helped me turn, then guided me onto the sofa as if I might break. He grabbed a soft blanket from the back of the couch, draped it over my shoulders, and sat beside me, one hand never leaving my thigh.
We didn’t speak.
He cleaned me with a cloth I hadn’t even seen him grab, movements careful, reverent. Then he disappeared for a second and returned with water, pressing it into my hand. I drank because he wanted me to.
Only then did he sit back, exhaling hard, and leaned his head against the back of the couch.
“You good?” he asked, voice quiet, words edged in something that might’ve been concern, or maybe tenderness.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
A long pause.
“Have you ever let go for anyone else?”
“No. They always wanted me to top, as if I had something I could give them.” I’m sure I wasn’t making any sense, but he didn’t smile, didn’t gloat—just nodded once as if he understood exactly what that meant.
Then he reached over and brushed his knuckles down the side of my jaw, slow and grounding. “That means something to me,” he said quietly. “You could mean something more.”
I swallowed hard, throat thick. There wasn’t anything to say that didn’t sound too big or too soon. But I didn’t move away. I leaned into his touch instead, and we sat, legs tangled, hearts slowing, the weight of everything we hadn’t said settling softly around us. And for once, I didn’t feel the need to run.
Someone pushed at the door. It didn’t open, but the knob jiggled, a distinctly Enzo-type curse, andthen footsteps on the stairs, and then more, a few seconds later.
“Rio? You in there?” Robbie’s voice, hesitant. “I have an uhm…” He paused as if he was making shit up on the spot, and we could both hear heated whispers. “I have a question about invoice 77387-slash-AW6 from Clovelly Auto. Uh… the one for the high-flow throttle body sensor with the modified TPS mount.”
There was no way I could think about cars right now… I was boneless, sated, wrecked. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Another pause. Then: “Uhmmm… asking for a friend… uhm…” He was so bad at this. “Is the door broken? Enzo said it wouldn’t open.”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I repeated.
There were muffled voices outside. Heated. I thought I caught Enzo’s voice saying something about fucking.
