"Please," I gasp."Devin, please?—"
"Not yet."His breath is hot against my stomach."Not until you believe it."
"Believe what?"
"That you're the only one I want.The only one I see."
"I believe you," I lie.
He lifts his head and looks at me with those dark eyes that see too much."No, you don't.Not yet.But you will."
Then his mouth is on me again and my brain just shuts the fuck off.There’s no thinking.No breathing.Just sensation; his tongue, his teeth, the filthy, maddening way he drags his lips over my skin like he’s claiming every inch.
I’m soaked, throbbing, practically begging without words, and the bastard knows it.He’s taking his time, dragging it out, like he gets off on watching me squirm.His hands are everywhere, running along my thighs, pinning my hips when they buck, holding me open and wide like I’m something to feast on.
He groans against me, low and rough, and it shoots straight through me.I clutch at the sheets, panting, writhing.My legs are shaking, my whole body tight and strung out.
When he finally pulls away and moves up my body, the loss of his mouth hits me hard.I’m already wrecked, trembling, every nerve lit up and begging for more.
He slides between my legs like he owns the space.Like I’m his.
“Enya,” he rasps, voice thick with everything he’s feeling, and fuck, the way he says my name like it hurts.“You sure?”
“Yes,” I whisper.Then louder: “Yes.Fuckingyes.Don’t make me wait.”
He doesn’t.
The first push has me gasping, clawing at his back.He sinks into me slow, deep, stretching me open until there’s no room for thought, onlyhim.My body arches, greedy, desperate to take all of him.
“Christ—” he breathes, stilling once he’s fully inside, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths tangled.“You feel… fuck, Enya.”
Every inch of me is pulsing around him.Tight.Soaked.Needy.
“Move,” I whisper.“Please, just...fuck me.”
And then he does.
It’s not soft.It’s not sweet.It’s a hard, filthy rhythm that has my breath catching with every slap of skin.His grip on my hips is bruising.His teeth find my neck, then my collarbone, biting down hard enough to make me cry out.
He fucks me like he’s starved for it, like this is the last time he’ll ever get to touch me.And I take it, every deep, rough thrust, every groan and curse torn from his throat, every obscene sound echoing in the room as we lose ourselves in it.
He keeps saying my name, growling it, moaning it, breathing it like it’s sacred.And somehow that’s the filthiest part of all.
My climax builds fast, hot and brutal, coiling tight in my belly and snapping through me like a whip.I break around him, screaming his name, nails digging deep into his back, thighs trembling as I clamp down and come, again and again.
“Fuck… Enya,” he chokes out, losing rhythm as his hips stutter.
Then he’s coming, deep inside me, face buried in my neck, his entire body jerking, shaking, grinding against mine until there’s nothing left but the wreckage of us.
We collapse in a breathless tangle, soaked in sweat.My thighs are still trembling, and his hand is still in my hair.
We don’t speak for a long time.There’s just the sound of our breathing, raw and ragged and real.
Then his fingers find mine.Slow.Gentle.Threading them together like he doesn’t want to let go.
“Stay,” he says, voice quiet and rough.“Tonight.Just stay.”
I should say no.I should walk out, clean up, pretend this didn’t just detonate every boundary I thought I had.
