And all I can say is, “Why do you look at me like that?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His lips graze my skin.
Then, quietly:
“Because I’ve never wanted to worship something I couldn’t keep.”
And fuck, that breaks something open inside me all over again.
Lowering myself to my knees, the wood is cool beneath my skin, but I barely register it. My thighs still tremble, my body buzzing with aftershocks, but I need to see him. Need to look him in the eye and understand why this doesn’t feel like a mistake, why it feels like surrendering to something I’ve been running from for far too long.
His eyes meet mine.
And fuck, he’s beautiful like this.
Flushed. Breathless. His lips shine with the mess of me, and when I catch sight of the glistening release smeared along his jaw, something inside me snaps. Not with shame. Not with fear.
With want.
“I suppose that makes two of us,” I murmur, voice barely steady.
Then I lean forward and drag my tongue across his lips.
He groans, low and broken, and the sound of it vibrates through me, straight down to where I’m still sore and soaked. His hands grip my hips like he’s barely holding on, pulling me into him until there’s no space left between us. Our chests collide, breath tangled, skin burning.
I claw at his shirt like a woman possessed, frantic to feel more of him, to rip through every barrier he’s still hiding behind. He doesn’t stop me. If anything, he offers himself to me, leaning in, teeth scraping across my lower lip, holding me in place while his hands ghost up my spine.
He finds the scars. The ones no one touches.
His fingers trace them with such devastating gentleness Inearly break apart all over again. It’s not pity, it’s reverence. His palms are warm, calloused, steady as they map the marks like they’re just another part of me he’s ready to learn by heart.
My fingers tear the fabric of his shirt open at the seam, and the second my hands meet bare skin, I gasp. Solid muscle greets me, heat and power and raw restraint trembling beneath my touch. He leans into it, letting me explore him the way he did me.
He captures my lip between his teeth and holds me there, breathing harsh and uneven, our foreheads pressed together like we’re trying to survive the gravity of this moment.
It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
And without thinking, I whisper, “Stand up.”
His eyes flicker, heat igniting all over again. Not confusion. Not hesitation. Just barely restrained obedience.
He stands.
Towering above me now, chest heaving, his pants still undone and tented, soaked through with the stain of my desire. My knees spread slightly, breath catching as I look up at him, utterly wrecked, still dripping, and completely at my mercy now.
But I’m not done yet.
Because if he worshipped me…
Now it’s my turn to devour him.
He doesn’t say a word.
But I feel him watching me.
Not just glancing. Not just looking. Watching, devouring, with the kind of hunger that makes my skin prickle and my thighs press together despite everything I’ve already given. His eyes drag down the full length of me, lingering on my flushed chest, the mess between my thighs, the way I lick my lips before I take him into my hand again.
