But now that she’d opened up a little to the girls—and to herself—this felt so very different. It wasn't just physical anymore. It was intimate in a way that terrified and thrilled her. Like he wasn't just touching her body—he was touching something deeper.
He unhooked her undergarment and carried her, his arms securely wrapped around her waist, as he walked from the hallway and into the bedroom.
He paused, almost imperceptibly, at the threshold of the room It was as if the air itself held its breath, their bodies silhouetted by the soft spill of moonlight through the window. The space was familiar, but the feeling was intoxicatingly foreign. With every step he took, her heart pounded louder, echoing in her ears. She clung to him, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, craving the sensation of skin against skin.
Buddy set her down on the edge of the bed, his hands solid and warm on either side of her waist. Never breaking eye contact, he gently tugged her shirt over her head, letting it drop to the floor. He slid her unclasped bra off her shoulders, tossing it across the room. A sudden coolness licked at her skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. His gaze seared her with a tenderness, that fluttered her stomach.
He stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at her, and traced a finger across her jawline, down her neck, over the top swell of her breast, and circled her taut nipple.
She reached for him, unbuckling his belt, fingers fumbling in anticipation as she unzipped his jeans and pushed them over his hips and down his thighs. Swiftly, he ripped off his shirt and kicked off his pants. He stood, –a statue in the imperfect light. She drank in the sight of his form. Even in silence, every contour of his body whispered to her, each muscle a testament to a life lived in service and sacrifice that she was just beginning to understand.
The look in his eyes held a mix of lust and tenderness that made heart pound. The way his brows furrowed when he looked at her, as if he were studying a work of art, made her feel cherished, valued. An unexpectedly powerful emotion that she didn’t want to acknowledge welled within her chest. She’d loved before, or so she thought, but never like this.
She curled her fingers over the length of him, squeezing gently, stroking firmly.
As he fisted his hand in her hair, he continued to stare at her intently. A combination of lust and… something else. Something deeper. But that couldn’t be real. She wanted it to be. Wanted him to feel that deeper connection the way she did.
Temporary. Can’t promise you anything.
Leaning forward, she brushed the tip of him with her tongue, and he hissed. His muscles tensed, but his gaze never wavered. It never changed. She could handle passion, desire, all of that. But the other things frightened her—the things that she couldn’t quite name lurking in the depths of his dark eyes.
Before she could take him into her mouth, he pushed her to the bed.
“These need to go.”
She glanced down and he’d already undone the button on her shorts, lowered the zipper, and was currently yanking them and her panties toward her ankles.
He flung them over his shoulders and winked. “Much better.” He knelt at the edge of the bed, lifted her legs over his shoulders, and licked his lips.
“Oh, God,” was about all she could manage.
His tongue darted out and flicked across her clit with the perfect amount of pressure.
Her breath caught in her chest. Everything narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the pressure building low in her belly. She grabbed for something—anything—sheets, his hair, it didn't matter. Her hips moved on instinct, chasing sensation she couldn't control.
When he added his fingers, curling inside her while his other hand found her breast, the world went white at the edges. She was coming apart. Actually coming apart. And the terrifying part was how much she wanted to let him break her wide open.
"Buddy," her voice emerged huskier than she’d intended. She stared at him, watching him please her, and her climax hit her like an ambush—violent and consuming. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only ride the wave as it tore through her in pulse after devastating pulse. A sound ripped from her throat—raw, desperate, nothing she could control. Her body arched, trembled, shattered. And still, he didn't stop, wringing every last tremor from her until she thought she might black out from the intensity. She worried it might never stop. The nerve endings on her clit were on fire.
Who needed multiple orgasms when that happened?
He curled his hands around her legs, prying them open with the gentle force only a loving partner could provide. He kissed his way up her torso, stopping at her breasts, giving each nipple attention, before landing on her mouth. He kissed her like a man desperate and starved.
His body pressed against hers—solid muscle, weight, heat. She couldn't get close enough. Couldn't think past the need coiling tight in her belly, sharper and more desperate than anything she'd felt before.
"Fallon," he whispered, his breath hot against her lips, his voice filled with an edge she hadn't heard before, something raw and unguarded. The sound made her shudder with a conflicting mix of euphoria and apprehension—should she pull away or let herself drown in it?
She opted for the latter.
It should have terrified her—this free fall, this complete surrender. Maybe it did. But she didn't pull back.
They shifted on the bed until he was pressed against her in exactly the right spot, but he didn’t move. He didn’t take her. Instead, he braced himself above her on his elbows, framing her cheeks with his thumbs, searching her face… for something. But she had no idea what.
And then, before she could say anything, he slid inside her, slowly, gently. Her breath released in a shudder. This. This was what she'd been fighting. Not the sex, not the physical—this sense of rightness, like something clicking into place she hadn't known was misaligned. She was open, vulnerable, completely his. Each stroke was unhurried, every thrust bringing them closer to the precipice. There was a connection between them—an undeniable pull—that went beyond the physical. It was there. No denying it.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the pleasure building low in her belly. His weight pressed into her, the rhythm mesmerizing, relentless. The orgasm hit hard—her body clenching, shuddering around him. Above her, Buddy's breath went ragged. His fingers dug into her hips, his whole body going taut. He pulsed inside her, and she heard the broken sound he made against her neck.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, skin slick with sweat. Her chest heaved. Her mind spun between satisfaction and that thing she didn’t want to name. She traced idle patterns on his arm, hyper-aware of how exposed she felt. How much she'd just given him.
