Not enough.
Not for me.
“Tell me what you want,” I press, my tone sharper now, more insistent. “Tell me what you need, Sweetheart.”
Her body answers before she does, arching, reaching, giving herself over in a way that makes my head spin.
“You! Benji, I just need you,” she gasps.
And there it is.
That surrender.
That trust.
That same damn pull that’s had me hooked since the day I met her.
I lean back just enough to look at her fully, to take in the way she opens for me without hesitation.
No fear.
No doubt.
Just me.
Christ.
If she’s lying?
If this is all some mistake?
Then I’m already too far gone to care.
I lean back in, my hand finally giving her what she’s been asking for, my voice dropping to something rougher, darker, edged with everything I’ve been holding back.
“Then listen to me,” I murmur, my forehead brushing hers, my breath mixing with hers. “Do exactly what I say.”
Because this?
This is the only thing I can control right now.
The only thing that makes sense.
Her hands tighten on me, her whole body keyed to mine like she’s waiting.
Like she trusts me.
And that nearly destroys me.
“Come for me, Ezzy,” I repeat, low and commanding.
Because if she can still do that—if she can still give herself to me like this—then maybe I didn’t lose her after all.
And it’s with that thought driving me that I fuck into her harder, faster, and I slide my thumb through her slick and press it down on her hungry little button.
And she does. She comes.
“That’s it. That is fucking it,” I grunt as I spill into her.
