I move slow. Intentional.
He shudders, breath catching, fingers tightening at my hips. “You’re going to end this real fast if you keep that up,” he gritsout, but there’s a break in it now—a thread of something lighter, familiar.
I feel it too. That shift. That edge of laughter that didn’t exist before.
“What? Too much?” My mouth brushes his temple, my voice dropping just enough.
His breath hitches again, then he lets out a rough, half-laugh, shaking his head against me.
“God, Riley…” His grip flexes, grounding himself. “You always did know exactly what you were doing.”
The words settle between us, charged—but different now. Not just heat. Not just control.
Recognition.
Memory.
I smile, slowly, unable to stop it as I tilt my head just enough to catch his eye.
“Funny,” I whisper. “Because I seem to remember someone giving very specific instructions.”
His eyes darken instantly, that flicker of heat sharpening into something more dangerous—but this time, it’s tempered by it. By the memory.
“Don’t start,” he warns, but there’s no real bite to it. “Stroke me.”
I don’t stop.
“Stroke,” I murmur, soft, teasing, the word sliding between us like a match strike.
He stills. Just for a second.
Then a low, incredulous laugh breaks out of him, his forehead pressing harder into my shoulder.
“You’re really going to bring that up right now?”
“You knew what you were doing,” I shoot back, breathless now, the memory rushing in with a warmth that’s equal partsheat and something softer. “Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t.”
He lifts his head, eyes locked on mine now, unguarded in a way I haven’t seen yet.
“Oh, I knew,” he admits, voice rough, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. “Knew exactly what it sounded like.”
“And you still said it.” My pulse jumps.
His hand slides up, framing my face, thumb brushing my cheek in a way that’s almost too gentle for the tension coiled between us.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, gaze holding mine. “Because I wanted to see if it still got to you. Me telling you what to do.”
My breath catches. It does. God, it still does.
I tighten my hand just slightly, watching the way it hits him, the way his control slips for a fraction of a second, and this time I can’t help the grin that breaks free.
“Guess you got your answer.”
He catches my wrist, brings my hand to his mouth, and kisses my palm. Then he positions himself and pauses, hovering, eyes locked on mine.
"Don't look away.”
I don't.
