No—something that feels incredible.
"Okay," I finally say. "Okay, you can move."
He pulls back slowly, pushes back in just as carefully and sets a gentle rhythm that lets me feel every inch of him.
And oh God.
This is nothing like his fingers.
Nothing like the vibrator.
Nothing like anything I've ever felt.
This is fullness and connection and intimacy so complete it makes my chest ache.
This is making love.
"Eden," he groans against my neck. "You feel—you feel incredible. So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Maybe I was," I gasp. "Maybe everything—the Sanctuary, the auction, all of it—maybe it was all leading to this. To you. To us."
"I don't deserve you."
"Yes, you do. We deserve each other."
He moves faster, deeper.
Finding a rhythm that makes me arch and gasp and cling to him.
One hand slides between us and finds my clit.
He circles it in time with his thrusts.
Building pressure. Building pleasure. Building toward something I can feel approaching like a tidal wave.
"I'm close," I gasp. "Vaughn, I'm so close?—"
"Come for me. Let me feel you come around me. Let me feel you fall apart."
His thumb presses harder against my clit.
His cock hits something deep inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
And I shatter.
The orgasm tears through me with an intensity that makes me scream.
Makes my body convulse around him.
Makes everything disappear except the pleasure and him and us.
"Fuck," he groans. "Eden, I'm?—"
"Come inside me," I beg. "Please, I want to feel it, want all of you?—"
So when he comes—when he buries himself deep and spills inside me with a groan that sounds like my name—there's nothing between us.
Nothing separating us.
