I know it.
I feel my body responding—and so does he.
Samick’s groan comes out like a growl, guttural and restrained, as he finally sheathes himself inside of me to the hilt.
Our moans tangle together in the shadows.
Samick pauses.
Halts.
Like he’s finding scraps of patience, his brow furrowing in the faint lashes of light dancing over his beautiful face, but never reaching his dark forest eyes.
My walls are tight around him, like they’re trying to grip onto him and keep him inside.
A heat flushes my cheeks. I wish it was from the shame. But it’s the need, the hunger, and I whine a small sound and try to jut against him.
Samick’s lashes shut for a heartbeat, his grip on me flexing, and I feel him tense against me. His muscles clamp against his urges, the urges that clench his jaw, tight, and trap a groan in his throat.
Then, after a beat, he opens his eyes.
“Fragile,” he murmurs, soft, a whisper, an echo—
I don’t think he says that for my benefit.
He’s telling himself, reminding himself, of what I am. That he needs to be careful, softer, than the urges in him tempt him to be.
He distracts himself for a moment, takes a beat to readjust and gather himself. Looping an arm around the small of my back, he holds me to him, and his other hand cups under my knees slung over his hip.
I’m utterly at his mercy.
And it sends a thrill through me.
If he called me weak, I wouldn’t argue.
He’d be right.
I am.
I part my lips against his, inviting his kiss—and he accepts.
Mouth meeting mine, he starts a slow, rhythmic pace, sliding in and out of me, getting me accustomed to his size again.
I throw my arms around his neck and arch into him as best as I can, all folded up like this against the tree, with bark scraping over my back and his cock filling me, his thrusts quickening, sharpening, like he only pulls out an inch or two before driving himself back in.
My grunts aren’t pretty.
But he eats them whole.
Our grunts meet, mouth to mouth, guttural and restrained. Our flesh smacks together, the tree bark disturbed and raining down on the foliage.
And it all weaves together to make the song that fills this little pocket of the forest.
Between every thrust, every plush kiss, every harsh breath, his teeth bare, as though he’s on the verge of biting into me.
And I don’t know what it means if he does.
I just know I can’t let him do it.
