When I finally put my mouth on her, we both groaned. The sound she made—half gasp, half moan—was the most erotic thing I’d ever heard.
She tasted like heaven and sin combined. I worked her with my tongue, starting slow, teasing. Learning what made her gasp, what made her arch, and all the ways to make her writhe. I pulled back just when her breathing quickened, kissing her thigh until she whimpered, then returned to her core with renewed focus. Her hands tangled in my hair, her nails scraping against my scalp in a way that sent lightning down my spine, holding me exactly where she needed me.
“God, your mouth,” she gasped. “Ryker, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I hummed against her in response, and the vibration made her back bow off the furniture.
I pushed two fingers inside her, slowly, letting her adjust, feeling her clench around them immediately. So tight. So warm. She was so wet, so ready. The knowledge that I’d done this to her, made her this desperate, made her choose me above everyone else who wanted her, sent fire through my veins. This brilliant, untouchable woman was coming apart under my touch, and the trust of that, the intimacy of it, made my chest ache with something I wasn’t ready to name.
“That’s it, Warrior,” I encouraged, curling my fingers to find that spot that made her cry out, pumping my fingers while my tongue circled that sensitive bundle of nerves. “You’re so perfect, Faith. So fucking perfect.”
I felt her climbing higher, her body coiling tighter with every stroke. She was close. I could feel it in the way her legs tensed against my shoulders, the way her breath came in sharp little bursts.
Her thighs started trembling, her breathing becoming erratic, punctuated with soft whimpers. “I’m … oh God, I’m …”
“Come for me.”
She shattered, crying out my name as her whole body shook. The sound carved itself into my memory with something I’d replay on every lonely night for the rest of my life. I worked her through it, gentling my touch as the waves peaked, not letting up until she stopped trembling. Only then did I press one last gentle kiss to her inner thigh and pull back to look at her. Flushed, breathing hard, looking at me with eyes that held something deeper than just satisfaction.
“One,” I said, my voice rough with my own need and something that felt dangerously close to more than just sex, as I stood and finished stripping off my clothes. I kept my eyes on hers, watching the way she looked at me, and I knew with sudden clarity that after tonight, nothing would ever be the same.
“You’re really counting?” she panted, watching me with hungry eyes.
“I’m a man of my word.” I pulled her to her feet, then turned her around. “Hands on the wall.”
She braced herself against the wall, looking back at me over her shoulder. The curve of her ass, the arch of her back, the way her hair fell like a curtain of silk … she was a vision.
I ran my hands over her hips, down her thighs, then back up to cup her breasts. She pushed back against me, and I groaned at the contact.
“I’ve imagined you like this,” I admitted, positioning myself at her entrance. “Every time I close my eyes.”
“Stop imagining,” she said. “Start doing.”
I thrust into her in one smooth motion, and we both cried out. She was so tight, so hot, so perfect around me. I had to still for a moment, afraid I’d lose control too quickly.
“Please, Ryker …”
I pulled back and thrust again, but slower this time, wanting to savor every second. My hands traced up her spine, feeling the way she shivered at the gentle touch contrasting with the deeper connection.
“You feel incredible,” I breathed against her shoulder, pressing a kiss there. The rhythm I set was deliberately measured.
She pushed back against me, trying to increase the pace, but I held her hips steady. “Not yet,” I murmured. “I want to memorize you.”
My hand slid around to her stomach, holding her against me as I moved, feeling the way her breathing hitched with each slow thrust.
“Touch yourself,” I commanded, my voice rough with the effort of maintaining control.
She hesitated for just a moment before slowly sliding her hand down her stomach. The first brush of her fingers against her core made her gasp, and the sight of her touching herself while I was buried inside her nearly broke me.
“That’s it,” I breathed, my grip tightening on her hip. “Let me see you.”
I matched my thrusts to the rhythm of her hand, slow and deliberate, watching the way her back arched, the way her head dropped forward. Every sound she made—every whimper, every broken breath—wound me tighter.
“Ryker …” My name came out strangled, desperate.
“I’ve got you.” I pressed my chest against her back, my lips finding her shoulder, her neck, that spot behind her ear that made her melt. “Just feel it.”
Her movements became more urgent, her fingers circling faster, and I could feel the change in her body with the way she started clenching around me in rhythmic pulses, the way her thighs trembled against mine. She was climbing, and I was right there with her, fighting to hold on.
