He held himself still, trembling with the effort. I could see the strain in his jaw, the way his arms shook where they bracketed my head—those broad shoulders blocking out everything else, making me feel small and surrounded in the best way. He was barely holding on and he’d only just gotten inside me.
God, I loved that. Loved knowing I could wreck him like this.
“Okay.” I rolled my hips slightly, testing. “Move.”
He pulled out slowly, then pushed back in, and we both groaned. He found a rhythm—tentative at first, then steadier as he gained confidence. Each thrust pressed against that spot inside me, sending sparks cascading through my nervous system.
“Harder,” I urged. “You won’t break me.”
He snapped his hips forward and I cried out, my back arching off the bed. The force of it shifted me up the mattress and he hauled me back down with one hand on my hip like I weighed nothing.
“Like that?” he asked, breathless.
“Yes, fuck, just like that—”
He fucked me harder, deeper, his earlier hesitation completely gone. Then he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head with one massive hand and something in my brain short circuited. My wrists felt delicate in his grip, swallowed up by those big hands, and I felt a rush of heat at how easily he could hold me down.
“Oh fuck—”
“This what you wanted?” His voice was rough, strained. “When you said you wanted to feel it tomorrow?”
“Yes, God, please—”
He held my wrists with one hand, the other finding my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. I was making sounds I couldn’t control—whimpers and moans and broken fragments of his name.
“You’re so beautiful,” he gasped. “So fucking beautiful like this. Taking me so well.”
“Derek—” I was close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight at the base of my spine.
“I want to feel you come for me, snowdrop.” His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
I was right there, teetering on the edge, moaning his name shamelessly.
“You feel so good,” he groaned. “Such a good boy. So tight. So perfect. I can’t hold it—”
“Then let go,” I gasped, straining against his grip. “You’re fucking me so good, daddy.”
He made a sound like I’d punched the air out of him, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make the headboard knock against the wall.
“Théo—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Do it. Come for me.”
He slammed into me one last time and I shattered, coming with a shout, spilling over his fist and onto my stomach. My whole body seized with the force of it and I felt him follow me over the edge—groaning my name, broken and desperate, as he buried himself deep.
We collapsed together, sweaty and breathing hard. His weight pressed me into the mattress—solid and heavy and encompassing—and I should have minded.
I didn’t.
“Will you stay?” He was still inside me which was how I justified my answer.
“Yeah.”
31. Derek
I woke up too warm and disoriented. And painfully hard.
Théo was curled into my side, his body fitted against mine like he belonged there. His arm was flung across my chest, his hand resting on my opposite hip—dangerously close to my morning wood. We had both slipped on our boxer briefs after a quick shower before passing out in my bed together.
