He leans down again, trailing kisses along my jaw, my throat, my chest. Every brush of his lips is fire, every touch a spark, and I can feel my control slipping further with each heartbeat.
This is too much. And not nearly enough.
I tilt my head back, exposing more of myself without thinking, and Elias responds immediately, following the invitation with an eagerness that sends every instinct in me roaring awake. My body arches, responding on instinct, and the sound that leaves me is raw and unguarded.
He pauses, eyes wide, breath shaking. “Boone,” he whispers, awed. “You?—”
I don’t let him finish. I pull him back up, angling, practically contorting my body to reach him and crashing my mouth to his, needing the grounding contact of his lips, his weight, his warmth. He kisses me back just as fiercely, hands sliding over my shoulders, my chest, everywhere he can reach.
We move together in a rhythm that feels older than thought, guided by nothing but sensation and trust. The forest around us fades into nothing but background noise, the crackle of the dying fire a distant echo.
I can feel the edge approaching—sharp, inevitable—and it terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure. I’ve never let myself go like this with anyone. Never allowed another being this much access to my body, my reactions, my weakness.
Elias senses it. I know he does.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, really look at me, his expression softening even as his breath comes fast. “Hey,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you.”
Those three words hit harder than anything else.
I close my eyes for a heartbeat, then open them again, meeting his gaze. “I know.”
And I do. Completely.
I hold him tighter, grounding us both, and let myself fall the rest of the way as he fucks into me—into sensation, into connection, into the terrifying, wonderful reality of wanting him this much.
A strangled moan rends the air, the sound followed by Elias’s “Oh fuck, fuck” as his hips jerk and he releases deep inside me.
The sensation unravels me, the heat of his cum painting my root enough to push me over the edge. My sack clenches from behind my cock and I roar as I come, spilling between us with a force that would shame a mountain storm finally unleashing rain.
I shudder and gasp, my vision whiting out as Elias’s perfect weight falls against me.
The light has changed by the time I come back to myself.
Not the sharp gold of early morning, but the softer spill of it—filtered through branches, broken into drifting flecks that move slowly across Elias’s skin as he rests on top of me. The forest breathes around us. Leaves whisper. A bird calls somewhere close, then farther away.
My body feels heavy in the best way. Loose. Spent. Like I’ve been wrung out and set gently back into place.
Elias is sprawled across my chest and stomach, his weight warm and solid. One of his arms is draped over my shoulder, his hand curled loosely near my collarbone. His hair is wild, the light catching in the coppery strands. There’s a faint flush still coloring his cheeks.
He looks… undone.
The sight of it fills me with a quiet sense of reverence.
I breathe slowly, careful not to jostle him. My arms are wrapped around him without conscious thought—one broadhand resting at the small of his back, the other splayed over his shoulder, thumb brushing idle circles into warm skin. The earth beneath us is cool and solid, the blanket rumpled and half twisted beneath our legs.
This—this—is what my body remembers.
Not the hunger or the heat.
The after.
Elias stirs, a small sound leaving him, more hum than word. He shifts, pressing closer, his cheek sliding against my chest. His lashes flutter before his eyes open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as he takes me in.
There’s a moment where he just looks at me.
Really looks.
His gaze moves over my face, my shoulders, the line of my throat, like he’s cataloging me for memory. Like he wants to commit every detail to memory.
