It’s her breath, warm, soft, and ghosting over my lips. That smile. Not smug or sharp,soft.Open.
There.
That marshmallow scent fanning over me with every thrust.
My chest tightens—sharp, fast, unwelcome.
No.
My thrusts falter. Something inside is slamming the brakes.
What the fuck is this feeling?
I pull back a fraction, jaw locked, fury rising at myself. This is supposed to be physical. Empty. A release. Not this quiet pressure, this need to stay buried here with her eyes locked on mine like it means something.
I’m just starting to get myself back under control when her voice cuts through it.
“More.” The word hits me wrong—in the worst way.
I hate how much I like that she says it. Hate that it isn’t a challenge or a taunt.
It’s awant.
Her hands slide from my hair down my arm, nails biting just enough to remind me she’s here, present, asking. Not daring me. Not fighting me.
Choosing.
There it is again. Sharp in my chest.
Enough. I don’t slow again. I don’t think.
I drive it forward. I fuck her ruthless now—focused, precise, chasing the edge before it turns into more. Before I let myself drown in the way her breath stutters, the way her body yields without a fight. Every thrust built to end this before it breaks something neither of us can fix.
She comes fast.
One second she’s panting under me, the next; she shatters.
Her back arches off the couch, body straining, mouth falling open on a sharp, gutted sound like she’s been holding it in for years. A gasp, broken and raw, like the pleasure wrecked her before she could give it permission.
And her cunt?
Fuck me.
She clamps around me so tight, it’s like her body’s trying to brand me from the inside out. Like she’s desperate to keep me.Ownme.
And maybe she does. For a second.
Because I don’t stop watching her.
Can’t.
My arms lock, breath caught, because I’m staring at her; at her face, and something inside me turns to glass and spiderwebs.
Eyes soft. Lips swollen. Cheeks flushed.
Destroyed.
Beautiful.
