“That’s it,” Sam whispers, praising my movements, and that turns me on even more.
One delicious swipe from the pad of his finger where I’m most sensitive and all that tension blows apart in a massive rush of pleasure. It rips through my body, and I cry out from the release.
Sam chuckles darkly, working his fingers to prolong my orgasm, until he gentles me all the way down. My head spins and I have the vague notion that I should be doing something in return. As if in a dream, my hands go to the snap of his jeans to free that thick ridge straining to break free because I won’t be satisfied until I can have all of him.
“Wait,” Sam rumbles, and my hands still. He shifts under me, digging for his wallet in his back pocket. The absurdly domestic scrabble of leather on denim in the middle of everything makes me giggle. He opens the wallet without looking away from me, finds a foil square, and holds it up like a promise. “Safe sex all the way!”
“Absolutely.” I grin at him.
He sobers. “No going back now. Things are going to change after this.”
“They’re already changed, Sam,” I say softly.
“Yeah… I know,” he whispers.
Sam tucks the condom between his teeth for a second to free the wrapper, and there’s something tender in the way his hands fumble, not from inexperience but because he’s shaking a little. I slide off to one side just enough for him to shove his jeans down, mouth going dry when I see him. He rolls the condom on, then sits back, legs parted, gaze locked to mine.
“Come here,” he says.
It’s not a command, not really, but it thunders through me like one. I climb onto his lap, and he catches the back of my knee, guiding me until I hover above him, until the blunt heat of him nudges exactly where I ache. The tremor ripples through me and he feels it. His hand finds my hip, not to push, just—steady.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly.
I lower slowly, not from shyness, but because everything inside me wants to memorize the first long slide of him into me. My breath sharpens. His disappears. The stretch burns sweet, and I don’t look down but rather watch him. Watch his eyes go black-rimmed and soft and a little stunned. I watch his mouth part like he’s about to say something he might one day put on a page.
“Penny,” he grits out, hands flexing on my hips as Itake him deeper, deeper still. “Jesus.”
I sink until my thighs meet his, until there’s no space left to negotiate, and my every nerve sparks. For a second, all I can do is breathe and feel and hold his gaze. He swears under his breath.
“Hi,” I whisper, because the urge to say something ridiculous bubbles up and out of me.
“Hi,” he answers, helpless, and the tension in his shoulders melts. He lets his head fall back, and I set my palms on his chest, the heat of him under my fingers shocking in the best way. I roll my hips experimentally and feel the answer all through me, a deep, delicious pull. He makes that broken sound again, and I do it once more, a slow grind that turns my knees unreliable.
I start a rhythm, measured enough to feel every inch, fast enough that I can’t think. He lets me lead, his hands firm but not directing, the quiet surrender that says more than any declaration. Wind brushes the porch screen. I ride him, steady and hungry, and each time I lift and sink, the pleasure swells. It’s sharp and molten, building in layers.
He shifts his hips a fraction, finding an angle that punches a cry out of me. My head drops forward again, hair falling around our faces like a curtain, and he catches my jaw in his palm, guiding my mouth back to his. The kiss is tangled and greedy and sweet. I lose my cadence, but Sam reclaims it, thrusting up into me with acontrolled power that makes every muscle in my thighs threaten mutiny.
“Don’t hold back for me,” I breathe against his mouth.
A raw noise meets my words. He plants his feet and drives, the new pace stealing my breath, electricity spiking through my belly. I brace my hands on his shoulders, then slide one down to the firm line of his abdomen for leverage. My body draws tight, that coil winding with intent, and I can’t help the sounds spilling out of me. He seems to absorb them like he needs each one, like they feed something in him.
“Look at me,” he says roughly.
I do. His eyes are open and reeling, his control frayed, but the care in them is unwavering. He brings one hand between our bodies, thumb finding me with a sure, gentle pressure that drives me into a delirium. My body shudders and then continues to chase the pleasure. The relentless slide of him and the way he says my name feels like it’s the only word he ever learned.
“That’s it.” His voice is wrecked. “Let go for me.”
The coil snaps. It’s not a clean detonation so much as a wave that takes my bones with it. I clench around him and clutch at his shoulders and hear myself half sob, half praise. He holds me through it, steady, mouth against my temple, thumb easing, easing, until the crest rolls me to aftershocks. I’m barely aware I’m still moving, littleafter-movements I couldn’t stop if I tried.
“Sam,” I say, because I can’t not say his name now. “Sam.”
“I’m here.” He grinds up once, twice—his control finally blowing apart—and then his hand clamps on my hip, a low oath ripped from his chest as he goes rigid beneath me. It’s agony through pleasure and it creates a smaller quake that makes me press my mouth to his shoulder and bite gently to anchor myself.
We fall still by degrees. My breathing stutters back to manageable and his heart thumps against my cheek. Neither of us move for a while, like any shift might break whatever spell we cast.
Eventually, I realize we are tangled up, half-dressed like teenagers, and laugh into his neck. “We’re going to get a charley horse if we don’t straighten out.”
“Worth it,” he says, voice lazy, and the smile within it is something I want to memorize for later. Sam strokes my spine with absentminded tenderness, while one hand still holds my hip possessively. “Are you okay?”
