I took him deeper, my lips sliding down in slow increments, relaxing my throat. When I moaned around him, the vibration made his fingers tighten painfully in my hair and his breath stutter.
Good.
I settled into it—my tongue sliding along the underside, dragging up on every stroke while my cheeks drew in with each slow pull. My hand closed around the base, working in time with my mouth, a gentle twist at the bottom of each movement, unhurried, giving back what he’d given me.
Every time I took him deep, his abs clenched, his thighs trembling. I could sense the battle within him—the cost of not thrusting, not chasing his own release—choosing instead to hold still and let me have this. To let me give.
I looked up at him through my lashes.
His eyes—dark silver, locked on my mouth stretched around him with an expression that lived somewhere between worship and ruin. His jaw clenched tight enough that the muscle twitched at the corner, a man holding himself together by a single fraying thread and aware of exactly how thin it had become.
I hummed—low, deliberate. His head dropped back against the pillow with a choked, desperate sound I wanted to carry with me for a very long time.
“Libby—Christ, I’m—”
I didn’t let him finish the warning.
I sucked harder, faster, my tongue swirling over the head on every upstroke, my hand working the base in tight, slick strokes that matched the rhythm exactly. His hips bucked once—involuntary, uncontrolled—then stilled as he hauled himself back with visible effort.
But I didn’t want his effort right now.
I wanted him to let go entirely.
I took him as deep as I could manage, my throat working around him, and held there—swallowing, pressing—until a raw and shattered groan tore out of him from somewhere past composure and his fingers clenched hard in my hair.
“Enough.” His voice came out completely wrecked, scraped down to nothing. “Libby—please. I need to be inside you.”
I pulled off slowly, deliberately, letting my lips drag along every inch of the way. I gave him the full experience of losing my mouth before releasing him with a soft, wet pop that made his hips twitch.
I crawled back up his body and straddled his hips. This time, I didn’t pause. I reached between us, positioned him, and sank down—slowly taking him in by degrees until he filled me.
For a moment, we stayed exactly like that. Still. Joined. Breathing each other in. His hand rose to cradle my cheek with a gentleness that contradicted everything urgent in his body. When his thumb moved, I felt the wetness it left behind, a smear of salt I had no memory of making.
“You’re already mine,” he whispered. His eyes held mine and didn’t look away.
I pressed my forehead to his and started to move.
I began with care: small rolls of my hips, learning him, adjusting to the fullness. Then longer strokes, deeper. I heard him exhale sharply beneath me, his chest dropping under my palms, his arms pulling me flush against him until I felt the heatof his skin everywhere at once. He moved with me, each upward thrust measured and deliberate, holding himself back.
I kissed him, tasting everything we’d become in the last hour. He kissed me back with a desperation that told me the control was costing him considerably more than he let show.
My hand slipped between us. My fingers found my clit and circled with the same slow rhythm he’d used on me that morning, and the pleasure built.
His eyes stayed on mine, even now—especially now—dark and stripped of the distance he’d spent days constructing.
The way his arms tightened around me with every forward roll, as though the concept of space between us had become something he refused to entertain.
My name—quiet, half-swallowed by his own ragged breathing—Libby, Libby, Libby.
My rhythm faltered. Quickened. He matched it without hesitation, hips rising to meet mine with urgency.
“Come with me,” I breathed against his mouth, my voice barely a sound. “Please, Finn. Let go.”
A guttural, unguarded groan tore through him. Behind his eyes, every wall, every carefully maintained layer of control, collapsed. What lived underneath it all washed over his face with a clarity that made my chest ache.
One moment I moved above him in slow, deliberate circles that had us both trembling. The next moment, his hands locked around my waist, flipping us and knocking the air from my lungs. My back hit the mattress, and the headboard connected with the wall, but his forearms caught him before any of his weight transferred to me.
His eyes immediately found mine—silver, wild.
