A draft found them.Hay rustled underfoot.Nothing moved except the spread of moonlight cold and bright through the open loading door.Here in the loft, the world shrank to straw, breathing, and the geometry of her outline.
He willed himself to silence and swallowed whatever impulse would have made him blurt a reassurance.She did not want that.Instead, he stood with his hips brushing her thigh and waited.
He had carried plenty in his life.Half a town’s worth of chores and the myth of Brooks self-reliance.Giving her this felt different.Letting her drive.He felt it right behind his breastbone.The raw promise not to reach first.Every muscle stayed tight under her regard.
She crouched with her knee creasing the blanket.Her gaze slid across his.Titus caught her scent again, richer up close.Pepper and the ghost of something from her kitchen lingering.She made no move to speak.Her eyes held him.
This was new territory.Her taking.Him waiting.Each second stretched long and unbroken.He let his boots shift just enough for her knee to brush the side of his.
Kyla flicked a glance to the mirror.Her jaw tightened in a way that said she would use every advantage he offered and then some.The air between them charged with a hesitation that searched for release.
The cold found its way beneath his shirt.Sweat cooled at the small of his back.His hands refused to close and his nails pressed into his palms.Still, he refused to step ahead of her or give even the smallest push.This moment was hers to claim and his to offer.He caught himself holding his breath and forced it out.
She leaned in.Her mouth brushed the edge of his jaw.Her fingers settled on the buttons of his shirt and traced a slow pattern.Moonlight cut along the planes of her arm.
Her knee pressed firm between his.In every motion she signaled that tonight she chose.He met her stare and gave her nothing to hide behind.The mask had been stripped from both their faces.
Kyla’s hands bracketed his shoulders and bore him down with the certainty in her grip.The hay crackled under his spine.Titus let her arrange him.
The urge to touch warred with a discipline older than want.Her knee pressed his hip.Her lips skimmed his throat.Then she pinned him flat with her fingers already dragging at his belt.
He went still.
Heat raced everywhere she mapped with her palms.She stripped him piece by piece.Shirt peeled back.Rough cotton raked over his chest.Callused hands followed the line of his stomach.
He felt cool air follow the sweep of her fingers.His body lifted into her touch.Every instinct to take over stayed smothered by the promise that tonight he would give her everything.
She knelt astride him with strong thighs bracing his hips.Her hands moved lower.She popped the button on his jeans and slid down the zipper while she drew out each motion so it branded.
Titus wanted to look at her but kept his gaze on the crossbeams overhead.His fingers knotted in the blanket and searched for somewhere to put all that waited inside his chest.He gave her his body with trust raw and uncovered.His breath rattled every time her fingertips scraped skin.
His jeans and briefs came down in one go.He sucked in a breath at the shock of air and left his legs loose at her mercy.Kyla did not hesitate.She tugged her own shirt over her head.Shoulders broad.Skin gold in the lantern glow.Breastbone rising fast with her heartbeat.
She shifted onto her knees.Dress shucked and kicked aside.The mirror stood at the ready behind her.
Titus stared up, helpless and hungry.Every muscle tried to tense but he forced his arms to stay at his sides.She straddled his hips with knees wide and lowered herself.
Hair tumbled in coils over one shoulder.Mouth parted in a line of intent.He kept still when her hand closed around him and guided him between her thighs.
One stroke.
Two.
Then she set herself above him and with a single tilt of her hips took him inside, inch by aching inch.The heat of her wet and ready undid him.His hips jumped.A flash of embarrassment sparked hot across his chest.
She stayed planted and seated herself all the way until her hips pressed tight against his.Only then did she reach behind and grab the hand mirror.She angled it so her face and the motion of their joining reflected back at her.
Titus did not dare move.
Every cell screamed for release, for friction, for his turn.Instead, he let the image work on him.The way her mouth tightened.How her fingers marked the skin above his knees.The roll of her hips setting the pace.
She watched herself ride him with eyes flicking up from glass to him and back again.Power showed there.Pleasure.Pride in making him wait without words.
The angle let her track how he vanished inside her and how her own body gave way.All of it bared for both to see.Titus’s hands shot up and gripped the sides of her thighs, but he kept them loose and resisted the urge to seize or lose the thread.
Her rhythm started slow.
She drove down, lifted, then rocked forward with muscles shifting under skin.Titus strained for permission.His breath hiccupped.Sweat prickled under his arms.His hips shook under restraint.
