“Boone,” he murmurs, breath hot against my throat, “you’re so tense.”
“I’m trying,” I manage, voice rough, “not to break something.”
His mouth curves into a smile I can hear. “You won’t.”
I want to believe him.
He shifts again, settling more firmly over me. The contact sends a wave of sensation crashing through my body. I grip the ground with one hand, the earth solid beneath my palm, anchoring myself as best I can.
“Elias,” I warn, because I don’t know what else to do.
He leans down, presses his forehead to my chest, and breathes me in before saying, “I’m right here. If you need me to stop?—”
“No,” I say, the word torn from me. “Don’t stop.”
The relief that flashes across his face is almost overwhelming. He crawls up my body and kisses me again—slower this time, deeper—and I meet him with everything I have left, pouring months of restraint and years of loneliness into the press of my mouth against his.
He eases away, keeping eye contact as he does so, shuffling down my body a little. When he grips my cock, I shudder, which earns me a heated smile.
“You know, producing your own lubrication is seriously a remarkable trait.”
I nod, unable to roll my eyes or even say something about just how evolved my species is. It’s impossible to do any of that as he works his palm up and down my shaft, coating himself with my slick as he does so.
My brain can’t compute anything beyond how beautiful Elias is and how I never want him to stop. I want him to always touch me. My cock, my slit, deep inside my channel, my mouth. Strangling ferns, even him touching my hand innocently will be enough. Admittedly, I want more right this second. Him buried deep inside me, pushing against my cock, my root?—
He nudges at my entrance and my breath hitches, which I’ll never admit to anyone, let alone will I admit that he has me so completely under his spell.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice low and shaky.
“Yes.”
His cock presses more firmly against me, my slit widening around him as he pushes farther and farther inside, sliding exquisitely against my root, where I’m most sensitive.
“Elias.” His name escapes as a plea.
I can’t stand any space between us. Not anymore. Grasping his ass with my palm, I tug him toward me. He thrusts, his strangled cry of pleasure the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
“More,” I demand with a growl.
His hips move, unselfconscious, seeking friction, and I feel it everywhere. Need builds with relentless intensity, my body reacting in ways that make my vision blur at the edges. I’ve never been this exposed, this open to another being, and the vulnerability of it hits me almost as hard as the desire.
He makes a soft sound, and that’s what does it—hearing how affected he is, how undone.
Lifting one massive hand, I cup the back of his neck, careful despite the haze overtaking me, and hold him there. His pulse jumps under my thumb, and he shivers.
“Boone,” he breathes, eyes half lidded as he pulls his hips back before plunging inside me once more. My cock drags across his stomach with each thrust. “You feel incredible.”
The tight, aching knot in my chest loosens at that. Not pride. Not triumph.
But belonging.
I shift beneath him, instinctively adjusting, and the movement drags a low, helpless groan from my throat. Elias freezes for half a second, eyes dark, then smiles like he’s just discovered a secret he plans to keep forever.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I laugh—short, breathless, a little wild. “No.” How can I ever be okay after this? “But do not stop.”
His answering grin is wicked and fond all at once.
