Genevieve
He looks like a god in this light.
The blue glow from the waterfall catches the planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle that tense when I drag my nails down his stomach, the scars that map a life I’m still learning the full shape of. Water mists across his skin, and his hair is damp and pushed back from his face, and his eyes are dark and focused on me with an intensity that makes my blood hum.
I’m on my knees on the smooth rock, and his hands are in my hair, gentle, not pushing, and his chest is rising and falling like he’s already coming undone and I haven’t even touched him yet.
I pull the waistband of his sweats down, and he helps, shoving them past his hips. He’s hard, thick and straining, and the sight of him makes my mouth water and my core clench around nothing. I wrap my hand around him first. Feeling the weight of him, the heat, the way his whole body tenses when my thumb drags through the wet leaking from the tip.
“Genevieve.”
I look up at him through my lashes, and his fingers tighten in my hair.
“You’re torturing me.”
I take him into my mouth.
The sound he makes isn’t human. It reverberates off the walls and gets swallowed by the waterfall, and his head drops back, his throat exposed, every tendon visible. His hips jerk forward, just once, before he catches himself and goes still, letting me set the pace.
I take my time with him. Slow strokes with my tongue, lips sealed around him, one hand working what I can’t reach. I learn him the way he learns me, by paying attention. The rhythm that makes his breath stutter. The pressure that makes his fingers twist in my hair. The spot just beneath the head where the lightest flick of my tongue makes his thighs shake.
“Fuck. Your mouth. JesusChrist.”
I pull back just enough to swirl my tongue around the tip, tasting the salt of him, and then take him deep again, hollowing my cheeks. His hand cups the back of my head, still gentle, still not pushing, but his fingers are trembling and I can feel the restraint coiled in every muscle of his body.
He’s holding back. He always holds back. Even now, even here, even when it’s just us and the waterfall and no one left to perform for, Lance holds back because somewhere deep in the wiring of him, he believes he doesn’t deserve to take what he wants.
I pull off with a wet sound that echoes obscenely in the alcove and look up at him.
“Stop holding back.”
His eyes are black. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“Genevieve.”
“I trust you.” I press a kiss to his hip bone, right above the scar from a fight he’s never told me about. “I’ve always trusted you. Now let me have you. All of you. Not the version you think I can handle.”
The restraint dissolves, like ice in heat.
His hand tightens in my hair.
I take him back into my mouth, and this time he moves with me. Shallow thrusts that match the rhythm I’ve set, his hips rolling forward, and the sounds falling out of him are beautiful. I moan around him, and the vibration makes his body jolt.
“Like that,” he rasps. “God, just like that.”
I relax my throat and take him deeper, and his hand fists in my hair and he pulls, moaning so loud it fills the alcove, drowning out even the waterfall for one perfect second.
His thighs are shaking. His breathing is uneven. He’s getting close. He swells against my tongue, and his hips lose their rhythm. The tip of him hits the back of my throat, and I swallow him down greedily.
He pulls away. Slides out of my mouth with a curse, his chest heaving.
“Not like this.” He pulls me to my feet, his hands urgent on my arms, and kisses me hard. He can taste himself on my tongue and he doesn’t care, just kisses me deeper, his palms cradling my face. “I want to be inside you. I need to be inside you.”
“Then take what you need.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. And he always makes me feel tiny, but our size difference is never as obvious as when he’s got me like this, with my legs wrapped around him, andhis entire body covering mine. My back hits the rock wall, and the stone is cool and smooth against my bare skin, and he’s hot against my front, and the contrast makes me gasp. He’s pressed against me, hard and slick, and every nerve ending in my body is screaming.
