I was right there. Balanced on the edge. His voice in my ear, low and filthy, the steady, deliberate way he touched me like he knew exactly how far to push. It wasn’t just what he was doing. It was how focused he was. Like my pleasure was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“That’s it. Come on my hand, beautiful girl.”
The command made my knees week. But I didn’t want to leave him behind.
My hand slid between us, finding his hard cock. I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked in rhythm with the pace he’d set, determined to give back even a fraction of what he was doing to me.
His head tipped back slightly. “Fuck. Don’t stop.”
The sound of his hunger. The weight of his body braced around mine. The pressure building inside me with nowhere left to go.
It was too much.
“Eric—”
My body seized as release tore through me, hard and blinding. Every muscle tightened, then shuddered. I clung to him, riding out the waves as he held me steady, not letting me slip, not letting me collapse.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
The world slowly came back into focus. My pulse thundered in my ears. My back still pressed to stone. His hand eased away.
But I didn’t let go of him. I’d come but he hadn’t.
I lifted my head and kissed him, tasting the smug satisfaction on his mouth.
“Your turn,” I whispered, and dropped to my knees before he could protest.
With my gaze held to his, I licked him from root to tip, watching as the most glorious man I’d ever laid eyes on took pleasure from my mouth. Arms braced against the rock. Chest rising and falling. Eyes dark and blown wide.
He was too big to take fully, but I hollowed my cheeks and sucked him down until I gagged and pulled back. Then I did it again.
At first, he tried to hold back—one hand in my hair, breathing hard but keeping still. Like he was worried about pushing me too far.
But I didn’t want him to be sweet. I liked him dirty. I wanted him real.
“Use me,” I pleaded, spit trailing down my chin.
Finally, he let go, the look on his face collapsing to dark, greedy lust. His grip turned rough. His breathing ragged. The controlled pace dissolved into something more instinctual.
He thrust himself into my mouth, forcing me to take what I could.
And God, it was fucking perfect.
I moaned around him and that was it.
The sound of my name in his mouth as he lost it, sent heat straight through me. He tried to pull back at the last second, but I held on, determined to take every drop as he came down my throat.
When it was over, he sagged slightly against the rock, chest heaving, and satisfaction settled over me. The air between us shifted as the rush faded. My skin cooled and pulse steadied.
This was the part that could have turned awkward.
But it didn’t.
He looked at me like I was something to be handled carefully now, not because I was fragile, but because the moment mattered. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, and then he kissed me without hesitation.
I pressed back into him, kissing him deeper, needing to anchor myself. The contact should have felt simple. This was only meant to be physical—just two bodies working out tension.
So why did kissing him feel like stepping onto something unstable?
