He hummed his approval, the vibration sending shockwaves through my core, and intensified his efforts. One hand found mine, fingers interlacing, while the other gripped my hip to hold me steady as he drove me higher and higher. The pleasure built in relentless waves, each one threatening to pull me under, until I was trembling on the precipice of something vast and terrifying and perfect.
When he slid his fingers inside me, curling them just right while his mouth continued its devastating work, I came apart. The orgasm crashed through me in wave after wave, and he stayed with me through all of it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks subsided, pressing tender kisses to my inner thighs.
He crawled back up my body, and when he kissed me, I tasted myself on his lips—salt and intimacy and something that felt like claiming. His body thrummed with barely leashed desire, the hard length of him pressing insistently against my hip.
"Come here," I whispered, pulling him closer, wanting to feel all of him.
He positioned himself at my entrance, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that brought tears to my eyes. Then he began to push inside, and the world narrowed to that single point of connection. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming. He was considerably larger than I'd anticipated, and my body resisted the intrusion. A sharp sting bloomed, pulling a gasp from my throat as my fingers dug crescents into his shoulders.
He went absolutely still. "Jordan—"
"Don't stop," I managed, though every muscle had gone taut. "Just... give me a moment."
He held himself motionless, trembling with the effort of restraint, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breathing came harsh and uneven as he waited, giving me time to adjust to the fullness. Soft kisses rained down on my face—my cheeks, my eyelids, the corner of my jaw—accompanied by whispered words I couldn't quite make out but felt in my bones.
Slowly, the sharp edge of discomfort dulled, transforming into something deeper, more insistent. I shifted experimentally beneath him, and pleasure sparked along my nerve endings.
"Please," I breathed. "Ruka, I need you to move."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. God, yes. Please."
He withdrew slightly before sliding back in, controlled and deliberate, his eyes never leaving my face. But there was only pleasure now, building with each careful thrust. I arched into him, silently demanding more.
"More," I said aloud this time.
Something flickered in his expression—the last threads of restraint beginning to fray. His next thrust went deeper, harder, and I cried out in pleasure. He established a rhythm that started measured but gradually intensified, each stroke pushing me higher. The careful control began to slip as hunger took over, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, drawing him deeper with each thrust. "Yes," I gasped. "Just like that. Don't you dare stop."
He groaned my name like a prayer, his hips driving against mine with mounting force, and I rose to meet him, our bodies finding a rhythm that felt ancient and inevitable. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, spiraling toward something explosive.
The orgasm detonated without warning, so intense my vision whited out. "Ruka!" His name tore from my throat as my body clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, pleasure cascading through every nerve ending.
The sensation of me tightening around him shattered his control. With several more powerful thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt, his entire body going rigid as he roared my name. I felt the heat of his release flooding me, pulsing deep inside as his hips jerked against mine, prolonging both our pleasure until we collapsed, trembling and gasping for air.
He kissed me like he was dying and I was life itself—deep, desperate, absolutely devastating.
Ruka shifted, rolling us to our sides, keeping me close, remaining buried deep inside me as he tucked me against his chest. We were both gulping oxygen like marathon runners, hearts hammering against each other through sweat-slicked skin. His grip tightened, almost possessive, as if the universe might try to pry me away if he loosened his hold even a fraction.
"My mate," he rumbled against my temple, the words vibrating through his chest into mine. "Mine."
Then came the kisses—soft as whispers, reverent as prayers. My forehead. My cheek. The tip of my nose. My other cheek. He mapped my face with his lips like he was committing every angle to memory, then buried his face in my hair and justbreathedme in, pressing more kisses to the crown of my head.
From the living room, my laptop beeped. Email notification. Probably Dr. Chen with another enthusiastic pitch about Emory's emergency room. Or Erlanger confirming our video interview tomorrow. Or any of the other hospitals that I'd submitted applications to, each one representing the future I'd spent a decade building toward.
I should check it. Get up. Be the responsible, logical person I'd always been.
The best sex of my life shouldn't dictate major career decisions. That was the definition of impulsive. The kind of choice that led to bitter regret and late-night what-ifs and explaining to future therapists how I'd torpedoed my career for an orgasm.
I should make a spreadsheet. Pros and cons. Career advancement versus... whatever this was with Ruka. Publications and prestige and the carefully constructed life plan versus a male I'd known for barely over a week who claimed we were fated mates and made me feel like I was made of starlight and electricity.
The thoughts drifted through my mind, sensible and smart and utterly unconvincing.
Because I was already burrowing deeper into Ruka's warmth, and his arms were tightening around me like he'd been waiting his whole life to hold me like this, and his heartbeat beneath my ear was steady and sure and felt likehomein a way no city or hospital ever had.
The email could wait.
