“Malcolm, again, now–”
“You’re perfect, Vee,” he rasps
I’m shaking. My legs are locked around his waist, my heels digging into the backs of his thighs. The pressure of his girth inside me is almost too much. My body is straining for him, arching into every thrust.
He holds my wrists tight, pinning them above my head. His breath is ragged and sharp in my ear.
His hips move and the bulge grinds right against the spot inside me that makes my vision go fuzzy. I cry out, half sob, half moan. I don’t care how desperate I sound. Iamdesperate. There’s nothing else in my world except the stretch and fullness and the heat rolling through me, wave after wave.
My nails dig into his skin when he releases me, leaving marks down his back. He likes it—I can tell. He growls and then nips at my neck again, just enough to make my whole body jerk. He’s careful not to break the skin, but it doesn’t matter. The sharp edge of his teeth is enough to send me spiraling.
“Malcolm, don’t stop, I want you to–” The words dissolve. My body is doing all the talking for me. I’m clenching around him, dragging him deeper, greedy for every inch.
He readjusts, palms sliding from my wrists to grip my hipbones, thumbs pressing into the soft hollows there as he coaxes my thighs farther apart with his knees. The slick, wet sounds of him fucking me fill the room. He stretches me so wideit almost hurts, but I love it. He knows exactly how to move, angle after angle, grinding and rocking until I see stars.
He pulls out, just to the tip, then slams back in and the knot catches, making me scream. My back bows off the bed. I’m shaking so hard my teeth chatter. He’s panting now, barely holding on, sweat slick on his chest.
"Perfect," he says against my shoulder. "You're so fucking perfect."
I lose count of how many times I come while locked to him.
Eventually it goes down and his movements slow. His breathing is ragged. When he pulls out this time he's shaking.
"I have to rest." He sounds wrecked. "Just for a bit."
He collapses beside me. Sweat-soaked. Chest heaving. I curl into him on instinct and his arm comes around me.
"Finn," he calls toward the door.
It opens and few seconds later and Finn steps in. His brown hair is disheveled, his glasses slightly fogged. He takes one look at us and crosses to the bed without hesitation.
"I've got her." He sits on the edge. "Rest."
Malcolm's hand trails down my arm before he lets go.
Finn pulls me into his lap. He smells like ink and rain and paper. No alpha pheromones overwhelming my senses. Just Finn. It’s nice.
My body doesn't surge toward him like it did for Malcolm. But when he touches my face, my skin still lights up.
"Hey," he says softly. "How are you holding up?"
"Burning."
"I know. Let me help."
He kisses me.
It's slow. Thorough. His tongue traces my bottom lip before sliding into my mouth. The kiss deepens and I find myself gripping his shoulders.
When he pulls back I'm breathless.
"You're a good kisser," I manage.
He smiles. "So are you."
His mouth moves to my throat. My collarbone. Down to my breasts. He takes his time. His tongue circles one nipple while his hand works the other.
"Finn." I arch into him.
