He cradles the back of my head in one hand. Runs his thumb across my lower lip with the other.
"Open for me."
I open my mouth and he slides inside and the weight of him on my tongue, the salt-clean taste of his skin, the way his breath hitches when I close my lips around him, makes me moan around him and the vibration makes him groan.
"Fuck." The word comes out torn. "Your mouth, Maya."
He starts to move. Shallow at first, careful, letting me adjust to the feel of him. His hand stays cradled behind my head, supporting, not forcing. I breathe through my nose and relax my throat and take him deeper, and when I do, when the head of him nudges the back of my throat and I swallow around it, his whole body shudders.
"Look at me."
I look up at him, eyes watering, mouth full of him, and whatever he sees in my face makes his hand tighten in my hair and his jaw clench and a sound come out of him that I want to hear again for the rest of my life.
He rocks into my mouth with more purpose now, deeper strokes that test the limits of what I can take and then ease back before I have to ask. His free hand trails down my body, over my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach, and when his fingers reach between my legs and find how wet I am, already, still, again, he swears under his breath.
I moan around his cock and his hips jerk and his fingers slide inside me, two, curling, finding the spot that makes my back arch off the bed. He fucks my mouth and fingers me at the same time and the dual sensation is overwhelming, the fullness of him in my throat and the pressure building between my legs, and I'm climbing, I'm close, I'm right there.
He pulls out of my mouth. Withdraws his fingers.
I gasp, the sudden absence a shock. "No. Don't stop. I was..."
"I know." He's breathing hard. His cock is slick from my mouth, flushed dark, twitching. His eyes are wild. "The next time you come, I'm inside you."
The words hit me like a physical thing. I feel them in my belly, my thighs, the place where his fingers just were.
He lifts my head gently, repositions me on the bed, and then he's next to me, lying on his side, pulling me to face him. We're on our sides, mirrored, and his hand slides down my thigh and lifts my leg over his hip. The position opens me to him and I feel the head of him right there, hot and blunt and pressing.
He pauses.
We're inches apart. I can see every detail of his face in the firelight. The pale blue of his eyes, darker now. The slight part of his lips. The auburn curls drying against his forehead.
He pushes inside me.
Slow. So slow. I feel every inch of him, the stretch, the fullness, the way my body opens and adjusts and then takes him completely, and we both exhale at the same time, a shared sound, and the intimacy of that, of breathing together while he fills me, makes something crack open in my chest that I didn't know was still sealed.
He doesn't move right away. He stays there, buried, forehead against mine, and breathes.
"You feel," he starts, and his voice breaks slightly. He clears his throat. "You feel incredible."
I touch his face. My fingers against his jaw, the rough stubble there. He turns his head and kisses my palm, eyes closed, and the gesture is so tender and so un-Jace that my breath catches.
He starts to move. Slow, deep rocks that are less about rhythm and more about feeling, like he's trying to memorize the way I fit around him. My leg tightens over his hip, pulling him deeper, and he groans against my forehead.
We're looking at each other. Not chasing the next sensation. Just looking, with him moving inside me in slow, unhurried strokes that build heat the way the fire in the hearth builds heat, gradual and then inevitable.
"Jace." His name comes out like a discovery.
"I'm here." He brushes his lips against mine. "I'm right here."
His hand finds my hip, grips, and the rhythm shifts, deeper, more insistent, but he never breaks eye contact and I don't either. The pleasure is building low and dense, not the sharp, urgent peak from the hot tub but something slower and wider, something that involves my entire body and the place where his forehead rests against mine and the sound of his breathing getting ragged and the way his fingers tremble against my hip.
"Come for me," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "I want to feel it. I want to feel you."
I shatter.
It rolls through me in a wave, not sharp but deep, a full-body release that starts where he is inside me and radiates outward through my belly, my spine, my fingers, my scalp. I clench around him and he groans, long and low, and his hips lose their rhythm and I feel him let go, feel him pulse inside me, feel his whole body tense and then give way against mine.
He buries his face in my neck and the sound he makes is surrender given a voice.
