I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My thighs locked around his head, heels digging hard into his back, every muscle in my body pulled wire-tight—
“Finn—I’m—fuck, I’m coming.”
My back arched so hard my shoulders lifted off the mattress; a raw, shattered cry ripped from somewhere deep in my chest. I came apart all at once—clenching hard around his fingers, my hips lurching up off the bed without my permission, a heat that started somewhere behind my sternum and tore outward through every limb until I couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and the next began. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t ease up. His tongue kept working through every brutal contraction, fingers still pumping, pulling the orgasm out past the pointwhere pleasure became something closer to pain. My vision blurred at the edges. My legs shook. Tears streaked down my temples, and I let them fall, didn’t try to stop them, just lay there completely unraveled while sounds I’d never made spilled from my mouth—gasps, broken whimpers, his name repeated over and over.
Only when the peak began its slow, shuddering retreat did he relent. His tongue softened into long, lingering passes over my oversensitive skin, each one sending a full-body tremor rolling through me, prolonging the aftershocks until I lay beneath him a trembling, tear-streaked, completely incoherent mess—fingers still tangled weakly in his hair, chest heaving so hard my ribs ached.
Then—finally—he lifted his head.
His lips glistened. His chin dripped. His eyes—god, his eyes—were still hungry, pupils dark, not a trace of the edge taken off. He looked at me as if I mattered.
I couldn’t catch my breath, my body still twitching with residual electricity, my thighs still trembling where they’d fallen open around him, every nerve ending raw and ringing and completely at his mercy.
He dragged the back of his hand slowly across his mouth, held my gaze, and I knew—with absolute certainty—he had no intention of stopping.
I sagged against the pillows, boneless, gasping, and still shaking through the last of the aftershocks. Finn gave me no time to recover. He crawled up my body with a slow, deliberate intensity that made my stomach clench all over again. His eyes, dark and stripped of every civilized restraint he’d ever used to keep me at arm’s length, locked on mine. Whatever tenderness had softened his edges in the hours before had burned away, replaced by something primal and unashamed. It spiked mypulse and made my thighs press together despite everything he’d just done to me.
He was hard. Thick, flushed dark, the swollen head glistening in the dim light. My mouth went dry at the sight of him, and something deep in my core clenched with a hunger that surprised even me.
He swung a leg over me and straddled my chest, his solid weight settling against my breasts—commanding and completely without apology. No hesitation. No question in his expression. He fisted a rough hand in my hair and pulled my head back, sharp enough to expose my throat, sharp enough to sting, to send a jolt of electricity straight down between my legs.
The swollen head of his cock pressed against my lips. Hot. Slick. Insistent.
“Open.” His voice was low and guttural, dragged up from somewhere deep in his chest. Not a request.
My lips parted instantly, eagerly, without a breath of hesitation, because I wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to take what he needed from me with the same single-minded devastation he’d just used to take me apart with his mouth. Wanted to be the thing he hadn’t planned for, the variable that broke his careful math.
He didn’t ease in.
One brutal thrust drove him straight to the back of my throat. I gagged—hard, involuntary—eyes watering, and the choked sound that escaped around him only pulled a deeper groan from his chest, his hips twitching forward. He held himself buried for one long, agonizing second—my throat working around him, my fingers digging into his thighs—before he started to move.
Short. Punishing. Relentless.
“Take it,” he rasped, his voice shredded raw with need. His fist tightened in my hair, right at the edge of pain, using the grip to pull my mouth onto him with every snap of his hips.Wet, rhythmic slaps punctuated his grunts—flesh meeting spit-slicked flesh in a cadence that bordered on brutal.
My throat clicked and seized around him between the slick glide of his thrusts, punctuated by his ragged breathing.
The wet suction of my mouth releasing him fractionally before he drove back in created a vulgar percussion beneath our desperate sounds.
Saliva spilled from the corners of my stretched lips, running in warm trails down my chin, my neck, pooling in the hollow of my throat. I wouldn’t have stopped him for anything.
I moaned around him—loud and deliberate—the vibration making his cock jerk hard against my tongue as his breath hitched audibly above me. Tears tracked steadily down my cheeks from the punishing pace, but I kept my jaw slack and my throat open, relaxing into each thrust so he could go deeper. Every time he pulled back, I slid my tongue along the sensitive underside—swirling, tracing the thick vein that pulsed against my lips—then hollowed my cheeks on the drive back in, sucking tight enough to drag a ragged “fuck” from him that sounded torn loose rather than spoken.
“Goddamn, Libby—your mouth—” The words came out strangled as his hips thrust harder, faster, control dissolving with each urgent surge. The head of his cock hit the back of my throat on every deep stroke. My lips stretched wide, and I looked up through wet lashes, watching his abs clench and release. His eyes burned down into mine, watching me take him, his gaze reverent, as if I were the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed.
He leaned forward—one hand braced against the headboard, the other still tangled in my hair—and his rhythm turned savage. He fucked my mouth with brutal force, his hips working in tight, desperate surges, his breathing turning into ragged, open-mouthed gasps between a stream of curses. His balls, heavyand drawn tight, pressed against my chin with every thrust, and I could taste him—salt and heat, unmistakably him. My body clenched hard in response, still swollen and dripping and apparently not satisfied.
“Shit—I’m close,” he groaned. His hips stuttered, lost their rhythm, then found it again in a rougher, more desperate cadence. “Gonna come. Gonna fill that pretty mouth, baby.” A sharp, broken inhale. “You want that?”
I moaned around him in answer—urgent and completely unambiguous—and held his gaze with wide, tear-streaked eyes. I let him see how much I wanted this, how much I wanted him, and that nothing about this undid me. I was exactly where I chose to be.
Something behind his eyes darkened.
“Fuck—Libby—”
He drove deep one final time—buried to the hilt, my nose pressed flush against his skin—and the sound that tore out of him was nothing like his voice. His cock jerked hard against my tongue. I swallowed, and swallowed again, yet it still ran from the corners of my mouth in warm rivulets that traced my jaw and my throat. My hands gripped his thighs and held on. Above me, his whole body shook, head dropped forward, one fist still twisted in my hair and the other white-knuckled against the headboard.
He shuddered above me, violent, full-body tremors racking him as his hips jerked through aftershock after aftershock. Broken sounds, somewhere between curse and prayer, fell from his lips, as if he’d journeyed beyond language and couldn’t find his way back. His hand, which had gripped my hair, loosened by degrees, stroking slowly now. The tenderness of it, as his fingers moved with the same certainty they’d used to hold me down, broke something inside me.
