A soft sound escapes me, and he immediately covers my mouth with his free hand, gentle but firm.
“Shh,” he whispers, eyes locked on mine. “Remember where we are.”
Something about the pressure of his palm against my lips sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core. My eyes widen, and I see the moment he registers my reaction—the way my pupils dilate, the hitch in my breathing.
“Oh,” he says, voice dropping even lower. “You like that.”
I nod against his hand, unable to deny it.
His smile is pure sin. “Good to know.”
Troy keeps his hand over my mouth, his other hand working between my thighs, and I'm lost. The dual sensations—being silenced while being pleasured—awakens something primal in me. I whimper against his palm, my hips rising to meet his touch.
With any other guy, this might feel threatening, confining. But with Troy, it feels like liberation. Like I can finally stop being Delilah Greer, the girl who has it all figured out, who never needs help, who's always in control.
Instead, I can just be the girl who falls apart under Troy Hawkins' touch.
And somehow, that surrender makes me feel stronger, not weaker.
“You're so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice strained with restraint. “I could watch you come apart all night.”
My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin ashe slides one finger inside me, then another, curling them just right. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and I'm close, so close?—
He must feel it too, because he increases his pace, his thumb circling my clit as his fingers thrust deeper. My eyes flutter closed, but he makes a disapproving sound.
“Look at me,” he commands softly. “I want to see you.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The intimacy of it—being seen, truly seen, at my most vulnerable—pushes me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me in waves, and I would have cried out if not for his hand still covering my mouth.
As I come down, trembling, he slowly removes his hand, replacing it with a gentle kiss.
“That was...” I whisper, struggling to find words.
“Just the beginning,” he promises, shifting to remove his sweatpants.
I watch, still breathless.
Troy's eyes never leave mine as he pushes his sweatpants down, revealing his hard length. The sight of him—all lean muscle and wanting—makes my breath catch. He settles between my thighs, brushing the head of his cock against my entrance, teasing.
“I need you,” I whisper, surprising myself with my directness. “Now.”
His pupils dilate at my words. “Say it again.”
“I need you, Troy,” I repeat, my voice steadier this time. “Inside me.”
He groans softly, pressing his forehead against mine. “You have no idea what it does to me when you're like this, open for me.”
With one smooth thrust, he enters me, both of us gasping at the sensation. He gives me a moment to adjust, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Okay?” he murmurs, searching my face.
I nod, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper. “More than okay.”
Troy begins to move, setting a rhythm that's both gentle and insistent. His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin as they move up to cup my breasts. I arch into his touch, biting my lip to keep quiet.
“I love how responsive you are,” he whispers, rolling one nipple between his fingers. “How wet you get for me.”
The combination of his words and his touch sends sparks of pleasure through me. I reach up to trace the contours of his face, marveling at the intensity in his eyes as he moves inside me. He captures my exploring fingers with his mouth, sucking two into his warmth, and the unexpected sensation makes my thighs clench around him.
