He comes with a shout, head thrown back, body rigid. I swallow him down, riding out the aftershocks as he shudders through his release, my name a ragged whisper on his lips.
When he finally comes back to himself, he steps back a pace and pulls his pants up. He reaches for me, bringing me to my feet with hands that shake slightly. His heart pounds against me as he gathers me close. His breathing is still uneven, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls.
"You," he says into my hair, his voice wrecked, "are dangerous."
I smile against his skin. "You love it."
"I love you." His arms tighten around me. "Every beautiful, devastating, perfect inch of you."
He bends slightly, then scoops me up into his arms. Carrying me inside our cottage, he then sets me down on the bed and removes my robe. His pants drop to the floor, then we’re bothnaked. I'm on my back and he's above me, looking like a sinful god.
"My turn." The words vibrate against my throat as he kisses his way down my body.
His mouth finds my breast, drawing my nipple between his lips. He sucks, gentle at first, then harder, until I arch off the mattress with a moan. His tongue traces lower, along the dip of my waist, the curve of my hip. And then he pauses.
His lips brush my belly. Soft. Reverent.
"Hey, little one." His voice is so low and quiet I almost don't hear it. His palm spreads warm over the place where our child is growing, and he presses a kiss there, the gesture full of all the tender things he doesn't say out loud.
My eyes sting at the intimacy of it. The sweetness layered into the heat.
Then his mouth moves lower, his dark head between my spread thighs, and I stop thinking about anything except the feel of him.
The first stroke of his tongue drags a moan from somewhere deep inside me. He knows my body, has mapped every inch of it, learned every response. And he uses that knowledge ruthlessly. His mouth finds my clit and works it with devastating skill while his fingers slide inside me, curling to stroke the spot that makes my vision blur.
"Nick—" His name breaks in my throat.
"I've got you." His breath is hot against my wet flesh, his voice rough with his own need. “I can’t get enough of your pussy."
The tension coils tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. The sea breeze washes over my heated skin and the sound of the water blends with my own ragged breathing, and the pleasure builds and builds until my whole body is trembling with the effort of containing it.
"I love the way you taste. The way you’re always so wet for me."
I moan, writhing under the skilled devastation of his lips and mouth and tongue. His fingers thrusting inside me only heightens the pleasure, and soon I’m climbing toward a climax I can’t control. My hips buck against his face, my body needing more.
“That’s it, angel. Come for me.” A command wrapped in velvet.
There’s no holding it back, not that I even try. He feels too good, and he knows all the ways to make me shatter.
The orgasm sweeps through me like a wave—overwhelming, rolling through my body in pulses of heat and release. My back arches off the bed. I cry out with the intensity of the release. My pussy clenches around his fingers as he works me through every tremor, drawing it out until I'm gasping, oversensitive, my hand finding his shoulder just to anchor myself to something solid.
He rises over me, his hips settling between my trembling thighs. The blunt head of his cock nudges my entrance, and even with the orgasm still rippling through me, I need more. Need him.
"Please—"
He slides home in one long, deep stroke. All the way to the hilt.
The power of him, the fullness, the perfect ache of being filled so completely, is almost too much to take. My body opens around him, welcomes him, draws him deeper. He rocks above me in a slow tempo, going deep with each stroke, his forehead dropping to mine, both of us breathing hard.
"Nothing in this world," he says, voice low, fierce, shaking with restraint. "Nothing feels like being inside you."
He starts to move with more purpose now. Slow. Deep. Each thrust deliberate, unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second. His hands frame my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones, his eyes holding mine.
The tension I've been carrying for weeks dissolves a little more with every stroke, melting away under the steady rhythm of his body moving inside mine.
"I love the way you fuck me," I murmur, barely a whisper. “I can feel you everywhere.”
“Good.” He kisses me, soft and deep. "That's where I belong."
