“Wait,” he rasped, voice strained. “Stop. Stop, babe.”
I froze, lips still wrapped around him, eyes flicking up to meet his.
His chest heaved. Sweat glistened on his skin. His eyes were wild, dark, and so full of something tender it made my heart stutter.
“I want us to come together,” he said hoarsely. “First time—I want to be inside you when I lose it. Want to feel you clench around me while I’m coming.”
I slowly pulled off him with a soft, wet pop, licking my lips as I crawled back up his body. His cock bobbed against his stomach, slick and red, glistening from my mouth.
I straddled his hips again, bracing my hands on his chest. “You sure?” I teased, voice husky. “I was enjoying that.”
He laughed—a short, breathless sound—and gripped my hips, thumbs digging in just enough to bruise in the best way.
“I know you were,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “And fuck … you almost killed me.” He lifted his hips, sliding his length along my soaked folds, teasing my clit until I whimpered. “But I need to be buried in you when I come, Soph. Need to feel you come with me.”
My heart squeezed.
Only then did he flip me and crawl up my body, kissing every inch he passed—my stomach, the undersides of my breasts through the satin, the hollow of my throat.
When he reached my mouth, I tasted myself on his tongue and moaned into the kiss.
“Wyatt, I need you inside me,” I said against his lips. “Now.”
He reached behind me, found the zipper of my dress, and dragged it down. The satin pooled around my waist. He pushed the straps off my shoulders, baring my breasts—fuller than they used to be, heavier, nipples already tight and aching.
Wyatt’s breath caught.
“Fuck,” he whispered, palming one breast, thumb circling the peak. “These are perfect.”
He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his hand kneaded the other. I arched into him, thighs spreading wider, silently begging.
He shifted, notched himself at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he ordered, voice gravel-rough.
I did.
His eyes were nearly black with want, but underneath it was something softer. Something that looked a lot like love.
“To tell you God's honest truth, Soph, I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he said quietly. “Every time I thought about home, I thought about you. About this.”
Tears pricked my eyes.
“Then take it,” I whispered. “Take me.”
He pushed in—slow. Inch by inch. Stretching me. Filling me. Until he was seated to the hilt and we both groaned like we’d finally come home.
He stilled, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice strained.
“More than anything in the whole world,” I breathed. “Don’t stop.”
He started to move.
Slow at first—long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every ridge along my walls. Each thrust pushed a soft cry from my throat. My nails scored down his back. His mouth found mine again, kissing me through every stroke, swallowing my moans.
Then faster.
