“Christ, Stella,” he murmurs as his hands cup my breasts with a reverence that makes my throat tighten. His thumbs brush over my nipples, and the sensation is so sharp, so consuming, I can't hold back the raw sound that escapes me.
“Do that again,” I gasp, and he does, rolling and teasing until I'm trembling in his hands, my every nerve ending lit up.
“Lie down for me,” he says, and I do, watching as he takes a moment to just look at me spread out on his bed. “I've dreamed about this,” he admits. “About how you'd look, how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how I could make you feel good.”
“Brandon, please.”
He joins me on the bed, and his mouth finds mine again before trailing down my body with the kind of attention I've never experienced. When he reaches my breasts, he takes his time, alternating between gentle kisses and an intensity that has me gasping his name.
“So responsive,” he murmurs against my skin. “I love the sounds you make.”
His hands continue their exploration, mapping every curve and hollow like he wants to memorize me. When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he pauses again and looks up at me.
“Can I taste you?”
The question, asked so directly, makes me blush. I nod, not trusting my voice. He hooks his fingers in the lace and slides it down my legs with agonizing slowness.
“God, you're gorgeous,” he says, settling between my thighs. “All of you.”
The first touch of his mouth is gentle, exploratory, and I nearly come off the bed. No one has ever touched me like this, with such obvious pleasure in giving pleasure.
“Brandon,” I gasp as my hands fist in his hair.
“I know, baby. Let me take care of you.”
He works me with his tongue, lips, and the gentle pressure of his fingers until I'm completely lost, my body moving against his mouth as tension builds higher and higher. When his fingers slide inside me, curling in just the right way while his tongue circles that perfect spot, I shatter completely.
“That's it,” he encourages, working me through the waves of sensation. “So beautiful when you let go.”
When I finally come back to myself, he's pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs, my hipbones, the sensitive skin of my stomach, giving me time to recover.
“I need you,” I manage, my voice breaking as I reach for him. “Please, Brandon. I need you inside me.”
He stills, his weight braced above me, his eyes locked on mine. For a long heartbeat, neither of us moves. It's like the air changes, and I know we're both thinking the same thing. Once we do this, we can't go back. But looking at him now, feeling the heat of his body, I know I wouldn't want to. No matter what happens tomorrow, next week, or next year, this will be worth it.
He lowers his forehead to mine, and our breaths mingle. His gaze is so deep that it feels like he's seeing all the pieces of me I usually keep hidden. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low, almost reverent.
“I've never been more sure of anything.”
He reaches for his nightstand, fumbling for a condom, and I help him roll it on with shaking hands. When he settles between my thighs, the head of him pressing against me, we both go still.
“Look at me,” he says softly, and I do. Our eyes lock as he pushes inside me slowly, giving me time to adjust. The stretch is perfect, the fullness everything I didn't know I was missing.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
“More than okay. Keep going.”
He starts agonizingly slow, with each thrust deliberate and deep, like he's learning me from the inside out. And it's nothing like I imagined. I thought being with him would be all fire and speed, cocky skill and showmanship. And yes, there's that, but there's also something I didn't expect. The way his hand cradles my jaw between kisses, the way his thumb sweeps over my cheek as if he needs the connection as much as I do.
Every movement is a study in control, like he's savoring every inch, every sound I make, every sharp breath and soft moan. Then his control slips—just a fraction at first—with his hips driving harder, deeper, and his mouth finding mine in a kiss that's all heat and teeth. That shift from tender to feral sends a thrill through me so intense that I arch against him, chasing more.
“You feel incredible,” he breathes, the words ragged between thrusts. “Perfect. Like you were made for me.”
The way he says it, like it's not just sex, like it's a truth he's been carrying, pushes me closer to the edge. And when his hand slides between us, finding exactly where I need him, thecombination is too much. Pleasure rips through me, and my nails dig into his shoulders as I cry out his name.
“Stella…” My name on his lips is a groan, a prayer, and the sound of it makes every nerve ending spark. I'm still riding the aftershocks, my body pulsing around him, and it's like that's all it takes to make his control snap. His pace falters, then turns urgent, almost rough, with each thrust deeper than the last.
His eyes lock on mine, raw and unguarded, and I can see the moment he can't hold back any longer. I cup his face, needing him close, and he drives into me one last time before shattering, with my name spilling from his lips like it's the only word he's ever known.
