He did it again, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, and the rest of the sentence went nowhere.
He worked his way down my body with that same unhurried focus, his big hands bracketing my hips, holding me in place when I moved—not rough, just absolute, the grip of a man whohad decided where I was going to be and was informing my body of that decision.
He peeled my pants and panties down my legs, tossing them aside, then spread my thighs wide with those strong hands. I felt the possessiveness of it low in my stomach before I had a word for it, felt it in the way he pressed me down when I reached for him, the firm and certainnot yetof it that should have frustrated me and instead made everything worse in the best possible way.
"Brock—"
"I've got you," he said. Against my stomach, moving lower. "Stay with me."
His mouth found my pussy, hot and wet and relentless. He licked a slow, broad stripe up my center, then focused on my clit with devastating precision—sucking, flicking, humming against me while two thick fingers pushed inside, curling just right. I stayed with him, hips trying to rock against his face, held firmly in place by his hands as he devoured me like a man starved.
By the time he came back up my body, I was trembling again—nothing like the earlier trembling, nothing like fear, this was its direct opposite. He braced over me and looked down with an expression I wanted to keep somewhere. His cock was heavy and flushed against my thigh, thick and leaking at the tip.
Goddamn.
He lined himself up and looked at me once more. I held his eyes and nodded and he pushed forward—slow, so slow, stretching me open with every thick inch until I was gasping at the fullness, the burning pleasure of it.
When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt inside me, he stopped. Held. His jaw tight, his eyes dark, his weight on his forearms framing my face, and I felt him everywhere—deep, throbbing, claiming.
"Brock—"
"I know," he said. "I know."
He moved. Long, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside me. He moved like he did everything—with complete attention, with no wasted effort, with a focus that made me feel like the only thing in the room that mattered.
One hand slid under my hips, tilting me, and the angle changed so he hit the perfect spot on every thrust. I gasped and he made a low sound, like he'd been waiting for exactly that.
"There," he said. Low and rough. "Right there. Stay right there."
He picked up a rhythm—deeper, harder, more urgent—his hips snapping against mine with possessive force while still somehow tender, like he was pouring everything he felt into every thrust. His hand moved between us and found my clit, rubbing circles as he drove into me.
His mouth found my ear.
"Nobody else," he said. Low and tight, like it was being pulled out of him. "You understand me? Not the hitchhiking, not New York, not anyone else. Not anymore."
I should have found that alarming. It was alarming. It was the kind of thing a man said that a sensible woman filed under red flag and examined carefully in daylight.
In the dark of the studio with his body against mine, his cock stretching me so perfectly, I found it was the most attractive thing anyone had ever said to me.
"Okay," I breathed.
"Say it back."
"Nobody else," I said. And meant it, which was its own category of frightening.
Something cracked open in him at that. The rhythm shifted, deeper, more urgent, almost punishing in its intensity. His hand never stopped working my clit.
I stopped being able to think about anything at all—not the wedding or Daniel or my parents or the life I'd left or the life Iwould build or anything beyond this man and this room and the thing that was building in me like a tide.
"Let go," he said. Against my throat. "I've got you."
I let go.
The orgasm hit like the Atlantic had hit—like something enormous and honest and entirely without mercy.
My walls clenched around him, pulsing, soaking his cock as pleasure tore through me. I pressed my face against his shoulder and let it move through me. He followed seconds later with a deep, guttural groan, his cheek dropped to mine, hips stuttering as he spilled inside me, hot and thick, his body shaking with the force of it—raw and unguarded and entirely real.
Sex with Daniel had never been like that. Ever.
