Wrapped my hand around him and felt him inhale sharp beneath me. I held him steady and rolled my hips forward once,just feeling the slide of it, the heat, and he made a low rough sound and his grip tightened on my waist.
“Be careful,” he said, but the way his brow furrowed, his lips parted…it made me want to take him fast. Made me brave.
“You delicate, cowboy?” I asked with a coy smile I wasn’t sure how I managed.
He gritted his teeth. “Just…Christ?—”
I sank down an inch. He felt sogood, so big?—
“—tryin’ hard to be gentle with you,” he rushed out.
Then, in one quick move, I sank down as far as I could go.
We both gasped, my lips parting, little fireworks exploding behind my eyelids at the sheerlengthof him, the girth, the way he filled me up better than his fingers or a toy ever, ever could.
His hands gripped my hips so hard I'd have bruises tomorrow and I didn't care even a little.
"Haven." My name came out wrecked. "Don't move yet. Just—give me a second."
I looked down at him. Wyatt Holt, forty years old, combat veteran, the most controlled man I had ever met in my life, lying underneath me with his jaw tight and his eyes closed and his chest heaving.
Because of me.
I rolled my hips. Just slightly.
His eyes flew open. "Haven?—"
"I've got it," I said.
There was a stretch to it, a fullness that sat right on the edge of too much, but underneath that was something else entirely—a deep, aching pressure that made me want to move, made me need to move. I braced my hands on his chest and lifted up slow and sank back down and we both exhaled hard.
"Okay," I breathed. "Okay, that's?—"
"Yeah," he said. His voice had lost its edges entirely.
I did it again. Slow. Finding the angle, finding the rhythm, and every time I moved his hands flexed on my hips like he was holding himself back from taking over and I loved it. I loved having him like this. All that discipline, all that careful, measured control, and I was the thing that had taken it apart.
"Look at me," I said.
He looked at me.
His eyes were dark and his face was open in a way I'd never seen it and I filed every detail of it away somewhere I'd never lose it.
"Good?" I asked.
"Christ, Haven." Barely a whisper. "You have no idea."
I couldn’t resist.
I started to move.
I rocked my hips forward and back, up and down, pulling almost all the way off before I sank back down. As I found a rhythm, I felt my whole body moving—every roll of fat, my belly, my breasts. Wyatt reached up to take them in his hands, rolling my nipples between his fingers, and I clawed at his chest.
Just…watching.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes…yes, Wyatt—Wyatt, I’m gonna come?—”
“Please,” he begged, and it was the first time he was asking. “Please. Wanna feel you come on my cock, baby?—”
