Page 141 of The Sweetest Return

I did.

That almost finished me.

His eyes were dark and open, full of want, full of history, full of something tender enough to hurt. I had missed this too. His body, yes. The way he fucked me, yes. But more than that, being watched like pleasure mattered because it was mine. Being talked to like he knew where my mind went when my body got overwhelmed.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let me see you take it.”

“Dre.”

“I know, baby.” His thumbs dug into the soft curve of my ass, guiding me down until I whimpered. “You ride me so pretty.”

My hips stuttered.

“So pretty with my dick in you.”

The praise hit exactly where he meant it to. My nipples were still wet from his mouth, my ass tender beneath his hands, my pussy swollen and loud around him. The sound of us filled all that expensive quiet, slick and obscene, and instead of embarrassing me, it made me ride him harder.

Dre heard it too.

His gaze dropped between us, then came back to my face.

“You hear that?” he asked. “That’s you, baby. That’s this tight pink pussy telling on you.”

A broken sound left me.

His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed ruined.

“You like hearing it?”

“Yes.”

“You like knowing I can hear how bad you want me?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t hide from it.”

I moved faster, chasing the drag of him, the stretch, the pressure, the way his hands helped and held and claimed without forcing. His name slipped out of me once. Then again. Then again, until it stopped sounding like a word and started sounding like the only thing my body remembered how to say.

“Dre.”

“I’m right here.”

“Dre.”

“I got you.”

“Babyyyy.”

His growl filled the room.

The next roll of my hips made his head fall back against the pillow. His throat worked. His chest rose hard beneath my palms.

“Fuck, Mani.”

I leaned down until my breasts brushed his chest, until my mouth found his, until the ride turned slower and deeper and somehow filthier because we were looking right at each other while it happened.

His arms closed around me.