The pressure built fast. Blinding. Breathless.
And then it broke.
I shattered with a cry, my pussy clenching hard around him, dragging him deeper as wave after wave of pleasure tore through me. My body convulsed, twitching around his cock as I came, sobbing his name into the pillow.
With a guttural sound ripped straight from his chest, he thrust one final time, deeper than ever, and spilled inside me with a shudder. His entire body trembled as he held me close, locked around me like he could fuse us together.
We collapsed into the sheets, still tangled, still connected, panting in the aftermath. Sweat slicked our skin, and my heart was still racing when I felt his lips press against my shoulder—soft, reverent.
He pulled out of me slowly, and I felt the emptiness hit immediately, sharp and aching. He rolled onto his back, and I crawled into his arms without hesitation, curling against him, my head resting on his chest.
We lay there in silence.
His heartbeat thudded beneath my cheek—steady, strong, mine.
I closed my eyes and let the weight of it all settle around me. The storm we were in. The chaos ahead. Listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchored me. The chaos of last night still danced in the corners of my mind—how he moved, how he whispered, how he held me like he meant it.
But now? It felt quieter. Calmer. Like the storm had passed, and all that was left was this heavy stillness I didn’t want to wake from.
He shifted beside me; the motion breaking the silence as he pushed himself up on one elbow. Light filtered in through the curtains, catching on the sharp edges of his face. In the soft gold of morning, he looked untouchable—fierce and tender all at once.
“Seph,” he said, his voice low, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.
The touch sent a shiver down my spine. I was still so raw—body aching, soul unsteady—but I never wanted him to stop touching me like that.
“Yeah?” I met his gaze, searching for the usual tension that lived there, just beneath the surface.
Instead, I found something quieter. Still intense, but different.
“I need to get ready,” he said, and there was something in his tone—an edge of urgency I didn’t quite understand.
He slipped from the bed, and I watched as he stretched, the muscles in his back flexing beneath skin I’d memorized with my hands hours before. Then he moved through the room with that same commanding ease, pulling on black trousers, buttoning a crisp white shirt, shrugging into a blazer like he’d done it a thousand times—each motion polished, practiced, controlled.
But there was nothing distant about it. Not now.
He stood in front of the mirror, knotting his tie with deft fingers. I watched him like he might disappear the second I blinked.
Then he glanced back.
And he smiled.
Just a flicker of it, soft and unexpected, tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You know,” he said, voice teasing, “you could just stay in bed all day.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that your version of sweet talk?”
His smirk deepened. “Maybe.”
He walked back to me, slow and deliberate, and leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead. Gentle. Reverent. It stole the breath from my lungs.
“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, lips brushing my skin. “Don’t open the door for anyone.”
Something about the way he said it sent a thrill down my spine—possessive, yes. But also… protective. Like this was his way of saying you’re mine to keep safe.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, my fingers curling into the sheets still warm from his body.
He adjusted his collar one last time, then turned toward the door.
