Encouraged, I lingered there, sucking gently, then harder, my teeth grazing the sensitive peak until it hardened under my attention. His hand fisted in the sheets beside us, knuckles whitening, but he didn’t reach for me. Didn’t take over. He let me.
Emboldened, I continued my descent, kissing and licking a slow path down the center of his torso, feeling the muscles jump beneath my lips.
When I reached his hips, I paused, blowing a cool stream of air over the length of his cock. He was already half-hard, thickening visibly as I wrapped my fingers around the base, stroking him slowly, deliberately, letting my thumb circle the sensitive head on every upstroke.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes closing for a moment before snapping back to mine, dark with raw need.
I loved that—seeing the crack in his composure. Not breaking him, but making him feel it. Making him want more. I pumped him lazily, watching every flicker across his face: the tightening of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the way his chest rose and fell faster now.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said, his voice strained but still steady, still him.
“Very much.” I leaned down, my breath ghosting over his length before I flicked my tongue against the tip, tasting the beadof pre-cum that gathered there. Salty, musky, unmistakably him. His hips jerked once, involuntarily, and I smiled before taking him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head before sliding down as far as I could.
He groaned, deep and guttural, his free hand coming to rest lightly on my head—not guiding, just touching, fingers threading gently through my hair. I bobbed slowly, hollowing my cheeks, my hand working the base in perfect rhythm.
The taste of him, the velvet-hard feel of him against my tongue, sent fresh heat pooling between my thighs. I was soaked already, aching, but this wasn’t about rushing. This was about savoring him the way he’d savored me—drawing out every shudder, every ragged breath.
I pulled back with a soft, wet pop, looking up at him through my lashes. His chest heaved, eyes burning. “Tell me what you want,” I said, my voice husky, thick with my own arousal.
“You,” he rasped. “All of you. Now.”
Not enough. I wanted more. I straddled him, my knees bracketing his hips, the heat of him pressing against my slick pussy. I rocked slowly, sliding my folds along his length without letting him inside, teasing us both with the glide of skin on skin. The friction sent sparks shooting through me, my clit throbbing with every deliberate pass.
“Lia …” His hands came to my hips, gripping but not forcing, thumbs digging in just enough to anchor me.
“Say it,” I demanded softly, grinding down harder, feeling him twitch against my entrance.
“I want to be inside you,” he ground out, the words rough, almost broken.
The raw plea undid me. I lifted, positioning him at my entrance, then sank down slowly, inch by exquisite inch, feeling the stretch, the fullness that bordered on too much but wasexactly right. We both gasped as I seated myself fully, his cock buried deep, pulsing inside me.
For a long moment, I didn’t move, just adjusted to the sensation, my hands braced on his chest for balance. His eyes locked on mine, something intense and unguarded passing between us—not just lust, but connection. Even deeper than before. Like we were seeing each other without any remaining barriers.
Then I started to move.
Slow rolls of my hips at first, circling, grinding, feeling every ridge of him drag against my inner walls. Pleasure built in slow, rolling waves, radiating outward from where we joined. His hands roamed—up my sides, cupping my breasts, fingers flicking my nipples until they ached and peaked under his touch. I arched into him, moaning softly, my pace quickening as the need sharpened.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe. “So fucking perfect like this.”
The words hit me like a caress, making my heart stutter even as my body tightened around him.
I leaned down, capturing his mouth in a messy, deep kiss, our tongues tangling as I rode him harder. His hips bucked up to meet me, thrusting deeper, but he still let me set the rhythm, the angle, the speed.
I broke the kiss, sitting up straighter, my hands braced on his thighs behind me for leverage. The new position let him hit that perfect spot inside me with every downward stroke, stars bursting behind my eyelids.
“Cassian,” I whimpered, nails digging into his skin.
“Take what you need,” he said, his gaze fierce, almost reverent. “All of it.”
I did. I rode him faster, breasts bouncing with each movement, his hands steadying me at my waist. Sweat slickedour skin, the room filled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of us—gasps, moans, the soft slap of flesh meeting flesh. The fire crackled faintly, the snow outside a silent, endless witness.
But I wanted to push him further. I slowed abruptly, clenching hard around him, watching his face contort in exquisite pleasure-pain.
“Not yet,” I whispered.
He growled, low and dangerous, fingers digging into my hips. “Tease.”
“Yes.” I lifted almost completely off him, then sank back down torturously slow, repeating the motion, drawing out every sensation until we were both trembling on the edge.
