Her gaze falls to my lap, and I lift her chin with my finger until she’s looking at me again. “Tell me…please.”
“It was a combination of things. How rough you were with me, biting my nipple, holding me down,” she tells me with a shudder. I hate making her think of it, but it’s something I need to know. And honestly, we’re long overdue a discussion about it.
“Got it,” I rasp.
She shakes her head, a sad half-smile curling her lips. “Just don’t go too fast. I’m here. I want this.” Her voice is steady, but I sense the undercurrent of anxiety. She’s choosing to trust me, and I have to be worth it.
Nodding, I thread my fingers through her hair. I want to memorize every inch of her: the pulse in her neck, the softness of her lips, the way she says my name like a secret.
“Always,” I assure her as I lift her effortlessly from the couch, savoring the way her body fits snugly against mine. As I carry her toward the bedroom, the air thickens with something electric, each step a quiet spark that hums beneath my skin.
The door swings open with an encouraging nudge of my foot, and the room fills with the low, steady drum of our heartbeats. I set her down on the bed—careful, gentle—as if she’s something precious and breakable. Maybe she is, but tonight I’m the one who’ll shatter if I get this wrong.
For a heartbeat, I hover above her, but I don’t have to wait long to wonder if she wants this, because her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me down into a kiss. The world narrows to a single point of light: her mouth, her skin, the way her body arches into mine.
Her sweatshirt slides up easily under my hands, the oversized sleeves flopping loose. A laugh escapes me when it nearly swallows her whole. “You’re drowning in this thing,” I murmur. She grins, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and it’s the kind of sight that could ruin me forever.
I peel off her shirt, then her bra, kissing every inch of exposed skin as it’s revealed. She trembles beneath my mouth, a soft sound slipping out—half sigh, half plea. Her fingers twitch like she’s reaching for something she’s not sure she remembers how to hold. I take my time, kissing down the length of her body, memorizing the taste and texture of her, the little shiver when my lips graze the inside of her elbow, the way her nipples pebble at the barest touch.
Her hands roam everywhere, as if she can’t decide where to land. I guide them to my waist, and she clutches me, nailsdigging into my hips as I slide her shorts off, leaving her bare to the golden light that trickles in from her bathroom.
I hesitate, watching her for any sign of retreat. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice barely more than a hush.
She nods, biting her lower lip. “Just… touch me.”
I do, starting slow, my fingers skating over her thighs, her hips, the flat of her stomach. I let her guide me, let her take my hand and press it between her legs, where she’s already wet and ready. I slide a finger inside, then another, and she gasps, her back arching as I find the rhythm she likes best. She rocks against me, her hips moving in a way that makes it clear: she’s in control now; I wouldn’t dream of taking it from her.
“More,” she whispers, her eyes closed, a crease of concentration between her brows. I add a third finger carefully, then press my thumb to her clit and rub steady circles. She whimpers, her breathing turning shallow and ragged.
I watch her face, the way her lips part, the little tremble in her eyelids as she tips toward the edge. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whisper, and she flushes, the pink running all the way down her neck to her chest.
When she comes, it’s with a violence that surprises both of us. She clamps around my fingers, her whole body shuddering as she buries her face in my shoulder, stifling her cries against my skin. I hold her through it, murmuring her name over and over, waiting for her to come back down.
She shivers in my arms, then laughs softly, the release painting her cheeks with a flush that refuses to fade. I press a kiss to her forehead. Still, my mouth aches for more—more of her taste, her noise, her willingness to let me in. I coax her thighs open with my hands, slow and careful, and she’s pliant, boneless, radiant in the aftermath.
“You don’t have to,” she whispers, as if embarrassed by her own need.
I slide down the length of her, nuzzling the inside of her knee, tasting salt and skin. “I want to,” I answer, voice rough even to my own ears.
I trail kisses along her thigh, moving inward, savoring the way her breath hitches and her hands clench at the sheets. When I press my mouth to her cunt, she goes tense, hips rising involuntarily into my face. God, I’ve needed this, the way her body sings for me...
I lose myself exploring the soft folds of her with my tongue, gentle at first, then greedy. The taste of her makes me lightheaded. I brace her thighs open, holding her steady as she bucks and writhes under my mouth. She presses her fist tight against her teeth, biting down to keep from crying out.
Her body bows toward me, trembling, the light catching the curve of her throat. It’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
She shudders. “Holy—Tris—“ Her voice breaks around my name, dissolving into a gasp as I flick my tongue faster, tracing a slow circle around her clit before sucking it between my lips. Her back arches so hard she nearly throws me off, making me growl as I bury my face in her, needing more, wanting to etch this moment onto the backs of my eyelids.
She’s on the edge again, a trembling that starts in her calves and climbs up, a wave about to crash. I slow, then pick up tempo, then back off, drawn out and lazy, savoring every second as she tries to catch her breath. I want her to beg for it, to need me as much as I need her.
“Tris,” she gasps, her voice so hungry for me. “Stop teasing. Please.”
Her plea wrecks me. I give in, unable to hold back another second. Flicking my tongue, I focus on her clit and slide my fingers over her G-spot. It’s exactly what she needs. Her hips buck with the start of her orgasm, and I use my forearm to holdher down as I stare at her face. I’ll never tire of watching her come.
When she recovers, she blinks down at me, dazed and breathless, and before I know it, her hands are on my jeans, undoing the button, and shoving them down in a frantic, clumsy way that makes me laugh. I kick them off, and she drags me on top of her, aligning us in the most urgent, obvious way.
I pause, the head of my cock poised at her entrance, and wait for her nod before sliding in. Heat sears up my spine, my grip tightening on the sheets until my knuckles ache.
We move together, slow at first, then faster as the need builds. Her legs wrap around me, heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper. I want to make her come again, want to be the reason she remembers how good it can be, how safe it is to let go.
