But he doesn’t stop.
Hedoesn’t stop.
He keeps licking, fingers curling, teasing, pressing until I’m shaking all over again, moaning louder than I should.
He climbs back over me, chest slick with sweat, cock throbbing against my inner thigh. His hand slides under my knee and lifts, and I swear my heart stops as he presses forward, bare, thick, and ready.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do.
He pushes in.
The stretch is unbearable. Delicious.Perfect.
He fills me inch by inch, dragging it out, making me feel every goddamn second of it until I’m clenching the sheets and whispering prayers I don’t believe in. When he bottoms out, we both freeze, breathing like we’ve just survived something.
Then he moves.
Slow. Deep. Powerful.
The first thrust has me gasping. The second has me moaning. The third, he grinds his hips in a way that makes my eyes slam shut and my back arch right off the bed.
“Don’t look away,” he growls, grabbing my chin. “You take every inch. Youwatchme do it.”
And I do.
I watch him fuck me.
I watch him ruin me.
And I want more.
Sebastian draws his hips back just enough to make me feel the loss of him, empty, aching, desperate, before he slides forward again, slow and deliberate, dragging every thick inch through me like he’s carving his name into my body. My breath stutters with each pull and press, my hands clutching at the sheets as if I might float apart if I don’t anchor myself to something solid.
“God,” I gasp, the word breaking apart as he sinks deeper. “Sebastian…”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, his forehead dropping to mine. “Feel me. Every inch. You’re squeezing me like you were made for this.”
He rolls his hips, not thrusting yet, just grinding, slow, devastating circles that press him right where I need him most. The friction steals the breath from my lungs, pleasure curling hot and sharp in my belly. I whimper, hips lifting to meet his instinctively, chasing that pressure like I’ll die without it.
His hands slide under my thighs, lifting them higher, opening me wider. The angle changes everything. The next thrust sinks deeper, harder, and I cry out, the sound tearing loose from my chest before I can stop it.
“There,” he groans. “Fuck, Harper...right there.”
He starts to move then, finally giving into the rhythm that’s been building between us. Slow at first. Deep, powerful strokes that pull all the way out before pushing back in, his body rocking against mine in a steady, relentless pace. Each thrust presses something loose inside me, pleasure stacking higher and higher until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t remember anything but him.
The bed creaks beneath us, the sound obscene and grounding all at once. His towel brushes my thigh, damp now, clinging uselessly to his hips as if it’s the last thin barrier between us and something completely unhinged. Sweat slicks his chest, his muscles flexing with every movement, and I can’t stop watching him, can’t stop watching the way he loses himself inside me.
My nails rake down his back, dragging a broken groan from his throat. His rhythm stutters for half a second before he compensates, thrusting harder, deeper, his breath hot against my ear.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls. “So tight. So wet. I could stay buried in you forever.”
The words hit something dangerous in my chest. My legs lock around his waist, pulling him closer, refusing to let him pull back as far on the next thrust. He laughs under his breath, and adjusts, pounding into me with shorter, sharper strokes that hit me right on the edge.
“That’s it,” he says, voice shaking now. “Don’t let go. Take it.”
The pressure builds fast, too fast, my body tightening, heat coiling low and violent. My moans turn breathless, desperate, my hips stuttering against his. He feels it immediately.
