She was already soaked.
The first long, slow drag of my tongue through her had her crying out, hips jerking up. I pinned them down with my forearms and didn't let up. I licked her like I was starving for it, because I was. Fifteen years of wanting this woman and now she was spread open on my bed and every wet sound my mouth made against her was loud in the quiet room. Every time she gasped my name I got rougher. When I sucked on her clit and pushed two fingers inside her she let out a moan that went straight to my cock.
"Hawk... fuck..."
I groaned against her and kept going, fucking her with my fingers while my tongue worked her until her thighs started shaking hard against the sides of my head. She came with a sharp, gasping cry, her back arching off the mattress, her fist tight in my hair. I didn't stop until she was twitching, trying to twist away from my mouth.
I rose over her. Shoved my jeans down and kicked them off. Her eyes dropped and her lips parted and the look on her face, hungry, dazed, wrecked, made my hands shake.
I came down over her, one hand braced by her head, the other gripping her thigh and hitching it high around my waist.
"Look at me," I said. Low and rough.
Her eyes found mine.
I pushed in slowly, watching her face the whole time. Her mouth fell open on a sound I'd never heard from her before, raw, helpless. She was so tight, so wet, and the way her body squeezed around me as I sank deeper made my vision blur.
"Jesus Christ," I gritted out. "You feel so fucking good."
I bottomed out and stayed there, buried to the hilt, my forehead pressed to hers while we both tried to breathe. Every pulse of her around me, every flutter, and it was almost too much.
Then she rolled her hips.
I made a sound I didn't recognise and started moving.
I fucked her deep and steady, watching every reaction. The way her breasts moved with each thrust. The way her face tightened when I hit the right angle. The wet, obscene sound of me sliding in and out of her. Every time our hips met, skin on skin, loud and filthy and perfect.
"You have any idea," I rasped, voice strained, "how many years I've wanted this?"
She moaned, her nails dragging down my back.
I drove into her harder, the pace building.
“I wanted to bend you over that bar. Wanted to drag you into the back room and fuck you until you couldn't stand. Every night, Bree. Every goddamn night."
Her head tipped back, mouth open, and I took advantage. I sucked a mark into the side of her neck while I drove into her, and she was making these soft, desperate sounds every time I bottomed out that were ruining me. I reached between us, found her clit with my thumb, and watched her face.
"Come on," I muttered against her ear. "Let me feel you come. Been waiting too long for this."
She broke. Her whole body locked up around me, clenching, pulsing, and the feeling of her coming around me dragged me under with her. I buried myself as deep as I could go and came with a rough, guttural sound, my hips jerking, my face pressed into her neck, and her name torn out of me on a breath I couldn't hold.
For a few seconds, all I could do was breathe. My heart was slamming against my ribs. Her legs were still wrapped aroundme, trembling. I could feel her heartbeat where our chests were pressed together.
I stayed inside her.
I lifted my head. Her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen, her hair a mess across my pillow. She looked wrecked in the best possible way.
I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip. Kissed her, slower this time, deeper, less frantic. When I pulled back she was looking at me with something in her eyes that I felt in every bone in my body.
I rolled onto my back, pulled her with me. She settled against my chest, her head in the hollow of my shoulder, her leg thrown over mine, her palm flat over my heart.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, something inside me was quiet. Not contained. Not banked. Quiet. At peace.
I pulled her closer. Pressed my mouth to the top of her head.
I didn't say what I felt. I wasn't ready. The words were too big, the moment was too new, and I was a man who showed everything through his hands, not his mouth. But my arms said it. The way I held her said it. The way I pulled the blanket over her shoulders and lay there in the fading light with her heartbeat against my ribs said everything I couldn't.
She heard it. I could tell by the way she pressed closer, the way her fingers curled against my chest, the way she exhaled and let go of something she'd been carrying for a very long time.
