“Ask me to stay,” he grunts out in my ear, between pants and moans as he hits new depths with each plunge of his hips.
My moan doesn’t make it past his fingers, but he must feel it, because he pulls them out, grabbing a breast instead and repeats himself.
“Ask me to stay, Lexi.” Not Boss, notbella, not little liar. Just me. And just him.
He flexes his hips again, destroying me with all of him, and I whimper as I start to shake.
Why does he have to ruin this moment?
I want him to have the life he deserves. But tonight, I just wanted something to remember him by, and now he’s even ruining that.
When I don’t answer, even though his hips slap into me more sharply, with more ferocity, his hand leaves my nipple to turnmy head to him, staying on my neck as our bodies continue moving intuitively.
“Goddamnit, ask me to stay, Lexi.”
The raw intensity in his voice pushes past all the barriers I’ve built over the years, and my last defenses crumble under the desperation in his voice.
“Stay,” I plead, panting, already coming undone.
“Yes,” he moans, cock thickening impossibly from behind me.
“Oh God,” I call out, the waves of pleasure ramping up, sweeping me under in a place I could happily drown.
Still gripping my neck, Wilder crashes his lips down on mine, using his tongue to keep my mouth open as he assaults me with every part of him, taking me so far past the edge I don’t know which way the edge even is anymore. What got me here.
Was it the toy sucking my clit, pulsing and puffing on it in a rhythm that could make me scream, or the vibrator that’s demolishing my g-spot with every spin.
Or the man who’s consuming me, stripping me raw and lighting my nerve endings on fire with the way he owns me, the way he reads what I need and gives me that times ten, even when I can’t ask for it myself.
His thick cock that’s doing exactly what he promised—ruining that entrance for anyone else ever again.
His hand, collaring my throat, possessive and firm, but delicate in the way men who work with their hands have to be. How he puts just enough pressure I feel it in all the right ways, but never enough to do lasting harm.
Or his soul, which feels like it’s invaded mine, no matter how hard I tried to keep him out.
His body shakes with mine as he moans into my mouth, kissing me throughout both of our releases, for longer than I cankeep track of, until I fear I might actually forget to breathe with the way he’s taking over all of me.
When he pulls back, it’s only after both of our releases are long gone, my hips lifted from the mount, and he’s removed himself from my tight grip.
I take in a shaky breath, remembering what it’s like to have oxygen in my lungs again, while hoping I never forget what it felt like to know nothing but Wilder.
“That’s all I wanted,” he says, a smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “All you had to do was ask.”
“Are you for real?”
He steps back from me, peeling the condom off, wrapping it in a tissue and then tossing it in the trash by the bedside table.
“I know I seem too good to be true, but if you need me to pinch your nipples and prove you’re not dreaming, I volunteer.”
“You’re really going to stay?”
“There’s nothing I want more.” The earnestness rings loud in his tone. “If you want me to.”
No one has stayed for me. Not my father, not my sister, no partner I’ve ever had, no one.
But this man would?
Would admitting that out loud, outside of the delirium of an orgasm-drenched haze be the blow to my ego my consciousness seems to think it is?
