His hand slid between them, fingers finding the slick heat between her legs. She gasped as he circled her clit with his thumb, then pressed two fingers inside her still-sensitive body.
“Already wet for me.” His voice was darker now, rougher, a side of him she hadn’t heard before. And she liked it. “Been thinking about this all night. About being inside you again.”
She moaned as his fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made her see stars. “Anson—please?—”
He withdrew his fingers and lifted her, carrying her back to bed with a strength that made her dizzy with want. He lay her on the tangled sheets, following her down, covering her body with his. He braced his hands on the mattress, head bent to her breast. His tongue was velvet, his beard scratchy as he drew one nipple into his mouth, sucking until she arched into him. He made a slow, greedy map of her body—lips at her throat, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts, his hands kneading her hips, her thighs, parting her and settling her open.
She’d never felt so exposed and so safe.
He hovered over her, gaze glued to her face as if waiting for a signal to stop, to pull back, to make sure she wasn’t changing her mind. She threaded her fingers into his hair, anchoring him, guiding him lower. His breath was hot on her belly as his tongue trailed from navel to the seam of her thighs. Then he was there, mouth open and hungry, the first touch sending a jolt through her so sharp she almost sobbed.
When she bucked, he pinned her hips with both hands, and his tongue delved deep before retreating to circle her clit.
She gripped the sheets, back arching as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. He knew exactly what she needed, alternating broad strokes with focused attention until her thighs trembled around his head. When he slipped two fingers inside her again, curling them forward while his tongue worked her clit, she shattered, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
“Anson,” she gasped, tugging at his hair. “Come here.”
He rose over her, his expression almost reverent as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Gold paint still dusted his chest, catching the faint light seeping through the curtains. She reached for him, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of herself and him and something new they were creating together.
“I need you inside me,” she whispered against his lips. “Now.”
“No condom,” he gritted out, even as he teased the head of his cock through her wetness.
“It’s okay. I’m on birth control.” She arched against him, needing all of him inside, needing the weight, the heat, the raw presence of Anson pressing her down into the mattress. “I only bought the condoms so you wouldn’t have an excuse to back away the first time.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, and his hips snapped forward to bury himself completely. The sudden stretch and fullness made her gasp and arch beneath him, her body stretching to accommodate his size. He stilled, his forehead pressed to hers, trembling with the effort of restraining himself.
“Okay?” he whispered, voice strained.
“Better than okay.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”
“You have me.” He braced his forearms on either side of her head, changing the angle to drive deeper. “Every fucking part of me.”
She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, urging him on. His pace quickened, each thrust harder than the last, the headboard banging against the wall with a rhythm that would leave no doubt for anyone nearby what they were doing.
“So tight. So perfect. Love the sounds you make,” he murmured, dipping his head to nip at her earlobe. “Love how you take me so deep. Love how you feel around my cock.”
Heat coiled tight in her belly, her body clenching around him as the man who never spoke whispered naught things in her ear.
“Don’t stop talking. Please don’t stop.”
He smiled against her neck—she could feel the curve of his lips—and then his voice was a low rumble in her ear again.
“Every night since you got here, I thought about this,” he rasped, his thrusts never faltering. “Thought about you in my bed, on my bench, bent over the anvil. I’d stroke myself and wish it was your hand, your mouth. Even when I tried not to, I’d picture you—hair wild, lips red, tits bouncing when you ride me.” His hand snaked between their bodies, thumb circling her clit. “Knew it’d be like this. Knew you’d be so fucking wet for me, so greedy for it.”
This was Anson without restraint, without the careful control he maintained. This was the man beneath all that quiet, and he was glorious.
Each filthy word, each brutal thrust, stoked the heat winding inside her into a blaze. He punctuated every confession with a harder snap of his hips: “Wanted to fuck you open, make you scream my name.” Thrust. “Wanted to ruin you for anyone else.” Thrust. “Wanted you so bad it hurt.”
“God, Anson, yes—” She was gone, splintered around him, the orgasm tearing through her with enough force to leave her shaking. He didn’t stop, not even as her body seized and spasmed, just fucked her through it, voice a steady grind in her ear.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she did, eyes blurry with tears, half-mad with need. “You’re mine now, Magnolia. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she managed.
He picked up his pace, chasing his own release. “Fuck, I’m close. Want to feel you come again. Come with me.”
His hand slipped between them, finding her oversensitive clit. The direct touch after her orgasm was almost too much, sharp pleasure bordering on pain, but she couldn’t pull away, didn’t want to. He worked her with the same focus he brought to his metal, to his leather, his thumb moving in tight circles as his hips maintained their punishing rhythm.
