"I need to be inside you," he says. Not asking. Telling. And the rawness of it sends heat flooding through every nerve I have.
"Yes. Please. Now."
He reaches for the nightstand. I hear the tear of foil. He rolls the condom on, and I watch his hands. None of the nights I spent imagining this prepared me for the way it feels to have him settle between my thighs and press against me.
He pushes in slowly.
The stretch is overwhelming. He's thick, the angle is deep, and my body opens for him in a way that makes us both groan. He sinks in inch by inch, watching my face the whole time, and when he's seated, he drops his forehead to mine and holds still.
"You okay?" Rough. Shaking.
I nod. "Don't stop."
He moves.
Slow at first. Long, deep strokes that I feel in my spine. His hand grips my hip, angling me up, and the change in position drags the head of his cock against the spot inside me that makes my vision blur. I wrap my legs around him and pull him deeper, and the sound he makes against my neck is animal and desperate, and beautiful.
"Bianca." My name in his mouth. Rough and broken. "You feel—God. You feel—"
He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to. I can feel what he means in the way his body trembles against mine, in the grip of his hand on my hip, in the way he keeps his forehead against mine and his eyes on mine and doesn't look away.
Neither do I.
We stay like that. Eye to eye. Skin to skin. Moving together in a rhythm that builds and builds, and every thrust pushes me closer to the edge, and every time his eyes find mine, the intimacy is almost more than I can bear. This isn't hiding. This is just me. Bare and open and seen.
His pace changes. Faster. Harder. His hand slides between us, and his thumb finds my clit and presses, and the combination of his cock inside me and his thumb circling tight is too much. The pleasure crests and I shatter, clenching hard around him, and I say his name with my whole voice. Not quietly. Not carefully. I say it the way I mean it.
He follows. Two more strokes, deep and shuddering, and he breaks against me with a groan that I feel in my soul. His face presses into my neck and his whole body shakes, and I hold him through it. Both arms around his back. My fingers in his hair.
He's not alone.
Neither am I.
We don't talk for a long time.
We don't need to. He's on his back, and I'm tucked against his right side with my head on his chest and my hand over his heart, and the cabin is dark except for the glow of the woodstove, and the room smells like us. Sweat and skin and wood-smoke and something new that didn't exist in this cabin before tonight.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder. Slow. Absent.
"Stay," he says. Quiet.
Not do you want to stay or can you stay. Just the word.
"Okay," I say.
He pulls me closer. Presses his mouth to my hair.
The bed shifts. A heavy, warm weight settles at our feet, and I hear the familiar sound of Chief circling once, twice, and lying down.
Rhett's heartbeat is steady under my ear.
I close my eyes.
I sleep.
Chapter 10
Rhett
