I see it happen. The moment his control fractures and whatever he's been holding back finally breaks free. His hands come up tomy face, large and warm against my cheeks. He cups my jaw with both palms, his thumbs brushing along my cheekbones with unexpected gentleness.
Then he drags me to him and kisses me.
The kiss is passionate. Desperate. Like he's been holding back for too long and finally let go. Like he's been drowning and I'm air. His mouth moves against mine with urgent need, his lips parting mine, his tongue sweeping in to taste me with a hunger that makes my knees weak.
I lose my grip on the blanket. It falls to the wooden planks beneath us with a soft whisper of fabric.
The cool air hits my naked skin but I barely notice. All I can feel is Artan. His hands moving from my face to my waist. His chest pressed against mine. The heat of him burning away everything else.
We kiss feverishly at first. Hard and urgent. His fingers digging into my hips with almost bruising force. My hands sliding up his bare chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my palms. Feeling the tension in his muscles. The restraint he's barely maintaining.
Then it changes.
The urgency shifts into something deeper. Slower. More deliberate. Like he's memorizing the taste of me. The feel of me. Like he wants to savor every second of this instead of rushing toward the inevitable end.
Artan picks me up by my hips. His strength is effortless, lifting me like I weigh nothing at all. I wrap my legs around him instinctively, my arms going around his neck. His mouth never leaves mine. Just keeps kissing me with that slow, drugging intensity that makes my head spin and my heart pound.
He lowers us to the ground slowly. First kneeling, his knees hitting the wooden planks with a soft thud. Then laying me down on top of the fallen blanket with careful precision.
His weight settles over me but he holds most of it on his elbows, caging me in without crushing me. His hips slot between my thighs like they were made to fit there.
He only stops kissing my mouth when he needs to get naked. His lips move to my collarbone instead. My breasts. Kisses and touches that feel reverent. Worshipful. Like he's discovering every inch of me and committing it to memory.
I help him with his jeans. My fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. He shoves them down his hips and kicks them off impatiently, his mouth never stopping its exploration of my skin.
We don’t talk. The moment feels too significant for words. Too heavy with everything we've been building toward. Too charged to break with conversation.
When he's finally naked, he pauses. Braces himself above me and looks down at me with an expression I can't quite name. Something between desire and something softer. Something that makes my chest tighten and my throat close.
His eyes catch on something. He reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing the left side of my neck. Where I can feel the slight tenderness of a bruise forming. Where Erion marked me with his mouth just hours ago.
"Erion," he says.
I nod. Confirm what he already knows.
I'm afraid he'll stop. Pull away. Decide this is too complicated or too messy or that sharing me isn't something he wants after all.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he leans down. Puts his mouth on the opposite side of my neck. Right where the pulse beats fast beneath my skin. And he sucks with force. Marking me too. Claiming me too.
The sensation sends heat flooding through me. Makes me gasp and arch against him. Makes my fingers dig into his shoulders.
His hand slides down my body with deliberate slowness. Over my stomach. Between my thighs. His fingers find where I'm wet and ready. Where my body has been aching for him since the moment I saw him standing by the water.
He works me with gentle precision. Two fingers sliding inside while his thumb circles and presses with exactly the right amount of pressure. Reading my body's responses. Adjusting his rhythm until I'm shaking beneath him.
The orgasm builds slowly. A steady climb that makes my breathing uneven and my thighs tremble. When it hits, it's not explosive. It's deep. Rolling through me in waves that leave me gasping his name against his shoulder.
Then he enters me.
The stretch is perfect. Filling. He slides in slowly, giving me time to adjust. Giving me time to feel every inch of him. His forehead rests against mine. His eyes locked on my face. Watching every expression that crosses it.
The pace is achingly slow. Deliberate. We look into each other's eyes the whole time. No hiding. No pretending this is just physical. No pretending this doesn't mean something more than it should.
Connection. Presence. Nothing rushed or hidden.
His hips move with steady rhythm. Each thrust deep and measured. Each withdrawal almost complete before he pushes back in. Building tension with patience instead of urgency.
