He exhales roughly and slides all the way in, deep, until he’s fully seated inside me. I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, my body clenching around him, and he swears under his breath.
He stays still for a beat, letting me adjust. His mouth brushes my neck, his hand cupping the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair.
When he moves again, he pulls out just enough to make me feel the stretch, then pushes back in until he’s buried. I meet himinstinctively, hips lifting, my breath coming out in soft broken sounds.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs against my lips, and my chest tightens. I nod, eyes burning for no reason.
His hand slides down my body and finds my hip, anchoring me. My body starts to melt into the rhythm, the slow burn spreading through me.
Ryder’s breathing gets rougher. He’s holding back, I can tell. He’s trying to keep this slow. Trying not to break the spell. I reach for him, pulling him down until his chest is pressed to mine, and lift my hips, making his cock go in deeper.
He groans, forehead dropping to the pillow. “Max,” he warns.
“Fuck me,” I whisper. “Like this. Don’t stop.”
His hand slides under my back and he lifts my hips slightly, changing the angle. It hits a spot inside me that makes my whole body jolt. I cry out, and Ryder’s mouth seals over mine to swallow the sound.
He moves again, the same angle, the same deep stroke, and my hands fly to his shoulders, gripping hard.
“There?” he asks, voice shaking.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes.”
His pace stays slow but more insistent now, each thrust dragging a sound out of me. My body starts to tighten, that familiar build returning, but it’s softer this time, more diffuse—like the pleasure is braided with comfort.
Ryder’s hand slides between us and his thumb finds my clit.
“You with me?” he asks.
I nod, breathless. “Always.”
He circles slowly, light pressure, and my body starts to tremble again.
“Come for me,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Give it to me, Max.”
I come with his name on my lips. He grips my hip hard, holding me down while he rides out the spasms, still moving slowly until the final shudder racks my body, and then his pace falters. His breath breaks.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying himself, and I feel him come inside me, a shudder running through his whole body.
He stays there, pressed deep, forehead against my shoulder, breathing hard for a long moment. I can feel his heartbeat against my ribs.
His hand strokes my hair. Once. Twice. Then he lifts his head slightly and kisses my temple.
“I love you,” he whispers, voice raw.
I nod, still floating. “I love you, too.”
He lets out a breath, rolls onto his side and pulls me into him, tucking my head under his chin. I let the quiet sink back in, the adrenaline from my dream all gone, the release leaving me calm—but not sleepy.
For a while we just breathe. His palm moves in slow strokes over my hair, over my shoulder.
“I hate that you have bad dreams,” he says after a while. Plural, like it’s an ongoing thing.
Is it?And I realize, this isn’t the first one.
Of course I do.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
