Between my thighs. Over the denim first. Pressing. My hips roll into the pressure. He finds the button. The zipper. Drags the jeans down and I’m helping, kicking them off. He traces the elastic edge of my underwear.
“Say the word and I stop.”
“If you stop, I’ll kill you.”
His thumb hooks the elastic. Pulls. Down. Off. His touch between my legs and I’m wet and this urgent need wins over everything else.
“Fuck.” His voice rough. “You’re so fucking wet.”
No comeback. His touch inside me. His thumb circling. Focused. Learning what makes me gasp. Harder when my breath catches. Easing off when I’m close.
“Look at me.”
My eyes open. He’s right there. Dark. Total focus.
He catches my wrists. Both. One grip. Pins them above my head against the mattress.
“Not yet.”
The words jolt through me. Not yet. Like there’s an order to this. Like he has a plan and I jumped ahead.
I writhe against the pin. His weight holds me. The restraint sends a surge through me I didn’t expect. Being held. Not being able to deflect or run or think.
“Stay here.” A command. “Don’t go into your head.”
“That’s it.” Quiet. Rough. “Right there.”
The tension coiling. My wrists flexing against the pin. He pulls back. I make a sound. Need.
“Don’t stop.”
Condom. The wrapper too loud in the quiet of the room. He pulls me to the center. Settles between my legs.
“I’ve never had anyone in this bed.” His voice scraping. “No one.”
He pushes his cock into me. Slow. The stretch. My fingers dig into his shoulders and a moan breaks out of me that I couldn’t stop if I tried. His arms are shaking. The veins in his neck standing out, his breath held between clenched teeth. Holding himself still while I adjust. The cost of that stillness written in every line of his body.
“Breathe.”
I breathe. He sinks deeper. Fills me until there’s nothing left but him. My thighs lock around his hips. Face to face. In his bed. Where no one’s been.
“Isabella.” Barely a sound. Like it hurts to say.
He moves. Deep. Slow. My back arches off the mattress.
“Mine.” Against my collarbone. Not a question. A fact he’s just discovering.
“Right there.” The words fall out of me. “Don’t change anything.”
I pull him closer and the angle shifts and he swears under his breath. Raw. His control slips. His hips snap forward hard. I gasp. He does it again. The rhythm shifting from studied to desperate.
“Do you have any idea—” The words scraped raw. “How long?—”
He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.
“I know.” I pull him down. Forehead to forehead. “Me too.”
The pressure coils tight. My vision narrows to his eyes and the place where our bodies meet.
