Then he pauses.
Instead of teasing or pressing in, he reaches down and wraps his hand around the base of his cock, positioning it right at my entrance but not pushing forward. He’s just a hair’s breadth away, the heat of him making me ache.
His other hand, still holding the toy, hovers over me.
He catches my eye again and places his hand over mine. “Show me.”
I swallow hard, but to hell with any doubts that threaten to ruin this. Tonight, I’m taking something just for me.
So I take his wrist and guide his hand lower. My fingers tremble as I adjust the angle until the rose hits just right. The vibration bursts through me, and I jerk beneath him, eyes flying wide.
“Please,” I whisper, the word breaking. “Beckett, I want you inside me.”
A guttural groan vibrates low in his chest and straight into mine. In the next breath, he sinks into me.
It takes a long second before the sting and fullness melt into pleasure.
My hand is still on his as he holds the rose steady. It all feels like too much—the pressure, the stretch, the heat of him filling me and refusing to let go. My hips arch instinctively, searching for more. I won’t last long like this, not when he’s filling every inch of me while the vibration sends sparks through my nerves.
He thrusts once, then twice, until he finds a rhythm that has my eyes rolling back into my head.
“Jesus, Madison,” he breathes against my mouth. “You’re gripping me so tight.”
I gasp as my head falls back into the pillows. My body is already spiraling. I’m too close, too fast. But even as he fucks me with relentless, driving strokes, it’s the contrast of his touch that undoes me—his other hand cupping the side of my face as if I’m something precious. His thumb strokes my cheek, and his mouth finds my shoulder, leaving soft, lingering kisses instead of the bites I expected.
It’s the contradiction that’s killing me. Rough, but not detached. Hard, but completely present.
He isn’t just taking.
He’s right here with me.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice hoarse.
I try, but the haze of pleasure is thick.
“Come on,” he coaxes, his forehead brushing mine. “Let me see those eyes.”
I find him through the fog and force myself to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched, but his eyes—God, his eyes are all over me.
That’s what pushes me over the edge. Seeing himlose his clinical cool for me sends me straight into the most intense orgasm of my life. I cry out, shattering beneath him, my thighs trembling and my nails clawing at his back.
Moments later, he follows.
With a curse and a stuttering thrust, he loses it. He buries himself deep, groaning as he finds his own release. His hand still covers mine, keeping the toy against me until we can’t take any more sensation.
He lets the moment linger before his hand finally stills. My fingers fumble for the rose, shutting it off. The sudden silence is almost deafening.
I stare at the ceiling, my pulse still jackhammering against my ribs as he shifts just enough to look at me. A lazy, crooked grin spreads across his face.
“Okay,” he manages. “So much better than a run.”
There’s a beat of silence, then we both break and start laughing.
∞∞∞
I wake to the gentlest touch of fingers brushing hair from my face.
It’s still dark outside, but I can see him. He’s crouching beside the bed, his broad, familiar outline visible even in the shadows.
