He leans down, mouths along my inner thigh, then licks me, slow, right where I need it. My legs jerk, but he just holds me down harder.
I beg without meaning to. “Briar, please—”
“Patience,” he says. “I want to take my time.”
He does. He licks, then pushes his tongue inside, and the sensation makes me see black at the edges of my vision. He fucks me with his tongue, steady, relentless, like he’s trying to fuckthe memory of every other person I’ve ever been with out of my mind.
Then he pulls back, grabs the lube from the bedside table. He slicks his fingers, makes a show of it, then slides one inside me, slow and careful.
He watches my face the whole time.
He adds a second, and the stretch is sharp, but good. I let my head fall back, breathing hard.
He fucks me with his fingers, then crooks them up and I nearly scream. He’s searching, and when he finds it, I’m done for.
He keeps doing it, pushing, pulling, never too rough. I don’t know how long it lasts. I lose track of everything but the building pressure, the need to be full, to be taken.
When I can’t take it anymore, I say, “Please, just—”
He shushes me. “I know. I know what you need.”
He slicks himself up, then lines up, his cock pushing against me, not in yet, just resting there.
He leans over, kisses me again, then bites my lower lip so hard I taste blood. He holds it, lets me feel the threat of his teeth, then kisses the sting away.
He pushes in, slow, never breaking eye contact.
The burn is real, but I take it. I want to take it. I want the pain and the stretch and the certainty that I’m the only thing he wants.
He sinks in, inch by inch, until he’s balls deep, his chest heaving, sweat already starting to bead on his forehead.
He doesn’t move at first. He just holds me, his mouth pressed to my ear.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, wrecked.
I shudder. He moves, just enough to set up a rhythm, then pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, hard enough that the bed frame cracks against the wall.
I moan, loud. He covers my mouth with his hand, eyes burning into mine.
“Quiet,” he says, but he’s grinning. “You’ll wake the whole valley.”
I smile around his palm, and he fucks me harder. The sound of it—skin on skin, the creak of the mattress, my muffled gasps—is the best music I’ve ever heard. There’s nothing else in the world but this.
He moves my legs up onto his shoulders, changing the angle. It’s deeper, rougher, every thrust a jolt that arcs up my spine. He watches my face, reading every twitch, every wince, every shudder.
When he hits the right spot, I see stars. He knows, and he keeps going, pounding into me until I’m begging again, unable to hold back.
He leans in, mouth at my ear. “Touch yourself,” he says. “I want to see you come.”
I do, because I’d do anything he says in this moment.
It’s fast. I’m so close it takes just a few strokes. I feel the heat build, then break, and I come hard, striping my chest, the sheets,the air. He watches, fascinated, then groans and grabs my hip, slamming in one last time.
He comes inside me, the warmth spreading, and he bites down on my neck as he finishes, marking me.
He collapses on top of me, pinning me with his weight. I wrap my arms around him, hold him tight, not wanting to let go.
He pulls out, slow, then rolls us onto our sides, facing each other, keeping me close. He runs his hands up and down my body, gentle, soothing, as if trying to make up for the brutality of before.
