“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she says, pushing up on her elbows, watching me.
Crossing this line is only going to make everything harder.
But I can’t stop now.
I need her.
In any way she will let me have her.
Disbelief ripples through me as I roll the condom on and settle between her thighs again. She bites her lip, eyes darting down as I line up against her. A flicker of nerves flashes across her face, twisting something deep in my chest—something protective and tender and terrifying.
“We don’t have to,” I whisper, brushing her hair from her face. “Don’t feel like you have to—”
“No,” she blurts, shaking her head quickly. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods, dragging me into another kiss, urgent and hungry. Her tongue tangles with mine as I push in, just the tip, her whimper breaking against my lips. Her nails dig into my arms, anchoring herself as her body stretches around me.
“God, I knew you were going to wreck me, but I didn’t imagine it would feel this fucking good,” I groan, pulling back an inch and pushing deeper. I’m drowning in the way she feels, the way she’s opening for me.
I’ve never wanted anything so badly, never been this close to falling apart.
Nothing has ever felt like this.
Nothing ever will.
I’m almost halfway when her lips part around a soft, broken inhale, eyes squeezing shut as her body fights to take me in. The sight nearly undoes me—her chest rising hard against mine, the delicate crease between her brows, like pleasure and pain are tangled together and she’s trying to breathe through both.
I stop moving, lifting myself off her a little, worried I might be crushing her underneath me.
“Is this okay?” I breathe. “Am I hurting you?”
She shakes her head, pulling me back down, her lips finding mine again. But I hold still, brushing my thumb across her cheek.
“Sadie, baby. You have to tell me if I’m hurting you.”
Then she tilts her hips and takes me deeper, until I’m fully buried inside her.
The sensation detonates through me—overwhelming, consuming, tilting my world off its axis. I grip the blanket beneath us, fighting for control, because she feels too fucking good. Too tight. Too perfect.
“Jesus Christ,”I grit, my forehead pressed to hers. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”
I move slowly at first, giving her a moment to adjust to me. Each time I sink a little deeper, she gasps, her nails clawing at my back, dragging me closer like she wants me to live under her skin. Then her hips start to rise and meet mine.
Every sound she makes, every breathy moan, brands itself into me.
“Wesley,” she whimpers, and I swear my heart stutters.
Kissing her feels like a prayer, lips sacred, her body the altar I’ll never stop kneeling to. Our rhythm builds and sweat slicks our skin as our breaths tangle into one. Every thrust drags another broken sound from her lips, and it’s all I can do not to come right there.
I slow just enough to brush my lips along her cheek, my voice rough.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmur. “I want you to feel good.”
Her breath falters, her legs tightening around my waist, but then she shakes her head, eyes warm and shining in the dim light.
