His mouth closes over my clit. Warm. Demanding. The flick of his tongue makes my back bow, and when he sucks lightly and adds that soft, wicked scrape of his teeth— I break.
“Oh God, Dorian…” I gasp, voice strangled, my breath catching as the orgasm tears through me like a storm I can’t hold back.
It’s raw. Powerful. Shattering.
My body arches, shuddering violently as wave after wave overtakes me.
Tears spill freely down my face—not from pain, but from something deeper. A cleansing. A surrender. Every tremor feels like pieces of me being knit back together, even as I fall apart in his hands and mouth.
He kisses his way up my body, slow and reverent, until he’s hovering above me. His hands frame my face, brushing away my tears with the tenderness that undoes me completely.
“Come here,” he murmurs, shifting onto his back and guiding me gently over him.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second—then climb astride him, my knees bracketing his hips. The way his eyes roam over me, dark and full of awe, makes my heart pound. He settles his hands at my waist, not pushing, just grounding me.
“This has always been yours,” he whispers. “Take what you need, Della.”
He shifts beneath me, strong hands anchoring at my hips, and I feel the hard length of him pressed against me, straining, waiting.
The heat that surges between us is almost overwhelming.
My breath hitches as his fingers slide down, slow and deliberate, brushing through my slick folds. He looks up at me with that devastating focus, like I’m the only thing in his world.
“Please…” My voice is already trembling.
“Soon, love,” he murmurs, his tone a soft promise. “Just feel it.”
He circles my clit with the gentlest touch, coaxing, teasing, until my body arches into his hand. Then he dips lower, coating his fingers with my wetness before returning to stroke me, to open me for him.
My thighs tremble on either side of his hips, the anticipation curling tighter and tighter inside me.
“You feel so perfect,” he says, his voice low, almost reverent. “So, soft.”
I glance down and see him—thick, hard, every vein standing out. The sight steals my breath. He’s always been like this for me. Hard and strong, yet so achingly tender.
My hand wraps around him without thinking, stroking once, twice, feeling the weight and heat of him before I guide him to my entrance.
I sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch exquisite.
“Oh, God…” The words break from me as he fills me completely.
He’s deep now, fully inside me and for the first time in five years, I feel centered. Real. Here.
I start to move, slowly at first, letting my body adjust to the fullness, to the way he presses against every sensitive place inside me. His hands guide my rhythm, not controlling, just steady, letting me take what I need.
I rock against him harder, chasing the pleasure that’s building with each movement.
His eyes never leave mine, drinking in every sound, every expression.
“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps, his voice cracking as he thrusts upward to meet me. “So strong, my love.”
My hips roll continuously, the sensation coiling deep inside me, unbearable in its intensity.
My hands slide up my own body, cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples as his gaze darkens.
I feel his length slide back and forth, in and out, hard and smooth, each thrust sending waves of heat through my body, drawing pleasure from him with every movement.
But this time, it’s different.
