My fingers curled against his back as the sharpness melted into warmth—from too much to everything.
“Fuck,” he breathed, low and reverent, as he sank the final inch. Our hips were flush and perfect against each other. “You feel so good.”
We stayed like that for a moment, breathing each other in. Allowing my body the time to fully accept him, mold to him.
Then he began to move.
A long draw back.
A deeper return.
Each glide smooth and controlled, pulling desperate sounds from my throat before I could stop them.
His hands traveled my body like he was learning me—ribs, waist, neck—every pass sending sparks running beneath my skin. And god, it felt right. The weight of him, the warmth of his breath, the way we found a rhythm that felt instinctive, inevitable.
“Emma…” he whispered, like my name meant something holy.
A sigh escaped me, gentle and broken. “Damien…”
His forehead touched mine, his body syncing with my breath as the pleasure gathered again—tight, rising in dizzying waves. Every stroke drew deeper sensation, another gasp, another unraveling thread.
The climb came slowly this time—layer by layer, curling through my belly, bright and impossible to swallow down.
My fingers tightened on his shoulders as the intensity sharpened, building to a point that felt blinding.
“I—” My voice broke.
He caught my face in his hands, eyes locked with mine. “Come for me.”
And I did.
Pleasure ripped through me in a fierce, breathtaking rush. I arched into him, a cry tearing loose as he held me through every pulse, every tremor, until the wave crested and broke, and I collapsed beneath him, shaking, undone.
He didn’t stop kissing me.
Didn’t stop holding me.
Didn’t let me drift far.
Then his rhythm faltered—just one stutter in his motion—and his whole body shuddered above me, muscles locking hard under my hands.
“Emma—” My name cracked out of him like he was coming apart on it. “I’m going to—”
“Inside me.” The words tumbled out, desperate and certain. “I want to feel you. Please”
His groan shattered against my throat.
His control snapped in the next heartbeat.
His hips drove forward in one final, desperate surge, nothing restrained or careful about it—just raw need, pure and overwhelming, as he buried himself deep and held there, shaking.
A rough, strangled groan tore from his chest as his forehead fell to mine.
I felt him—the pulse of release, uncontained—spilling into me in waves that matched the ragged pulls of air he dragged from somewhere far too deep.
He gripped my hips like a lifeline, pressed himself close, and let the pleasure wreck him. I felt every tremor, every shudder, until the tension finally unraveled and he folded into me, breathing my name like a prayer.
Something tender spread through me.
