I ate another strawberry. Then a bite of pancake, piled with cream. Some of it caught on my lip, a smear of white against my skin.
Before I could wipe it away, Caelan leaned in.
His tongue traced across my lower lip, slow and deliberate, giving me every opportunity to pull back.
I didn’t.
Instead, I grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him into a kiss.
The kiss was fire. All the tension that had been building for days, the groveling, the touches, the charged looks, ignited between us. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, and Caelan groaned against my mouth.
I was already wet. Had been since he licked the cream from my lip, since before that, since he read me those smutty passages in that deep, devastating voice.
His hands found my waist, pulling me into his lap. I went willingly, straddling him, the skirt of my dress pooling around us. Through the fabric of his pants, I could feel him. Hard. Straining. Wanting.
“Riley-” His voice was rough, broken. “We don’t have to-”
“Shut up.”
I kissed him again. Harder. My tongue slid against his, and he made a sound that went straight to my core.
I reached between us. Found the laces of his pants. Pulled until his cock sprang free, hard in my hand, and I stroked him once, twice, watching his face contort with pleasure. His jaw clenched. His eyes squeezed shut. His hips bucked into my grip.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “Riley-”
I didn’t put him inside me. Not yet.
Instead, I lifted my skirts higher, shifted forward, and dragged my wet heat across the length of him. Caelan’s entire body shuddered.
“What are you - oh goddess-”
I did it again, sliding against him, his length between my wet folds, coating him with my arousal, letting the head of his cock catch against my entrance before pulling away. Teasing him. Tormenting him.
He groaned, the sound desperate, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, but he didn’t try to guide me, didn’t try to take control. He just held on and let me torture him.
“Please,” he breathed. “Riley, please-”
“Please what?”
“Please let me - I need-” He broke off with a moan as I ground against him particularly hard. “You’re killing me.”
“Good.”
I kept it up. Slid and teased and rubbed until he was a trembling mess beneath me, until his head was thrown back and his whole body was shaking and he was making sounds that I wanted to record and play on repeat forever.
And then, when I’d tortured him enough, when I couldn’t stand the emptiness anymore, I positioned him at my entrance and sank down.
We both cried out.
He filled me completely. Perfectly. I took a moment to adjust, to feel every inch of him inside me, and then I started to move. I rode him slow at first, savoring every sensation. Then faster, chasing the pleasure building low in my belly. His hands were everywhere, my hips, my waist, my breasts through the fabric of my dress, and his mouth found my neck, my jaw, the sensitive spot behind my ear.
“You feel so good,” he groaned against my skin. “So perfect. My perfect mate.”
I moved faster. Harder. The sounds of our coupling filled the greenhouse: skin against skin, gasps and moans, his name on my lips.
“I’m close,” I panted. “Caelan-”
“Come for me.” His thumb found my clit, pressing, circling. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
