his breathing turns ragged and his thighs tremble under my palms.
He stops me before he
loses it gentle but firm, tugging me up by the arms until I’m straddling him
again. His mouth crashes into mine, tasting himself on my tongue, and he groans
like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.
Clothes come off in a
frantic rush after that. My shirt, my bra, my leggings yanked down with my
underwear in one impatient motion. His sweatpants kicked somewhere across the
room. Then it’s just skin on skin, his chest to my breasts, my thighs spread
wide over his, the blunt head of him nudging at my entrance.
He looks up at me, eyes
blown dark with want. “You sure?”
I sink down an inch, just
enough to feel the stretch. “Yes,” I whisper as I feel him stretching me.
He grips my hips, careful,
reverent and helps guide me down until he’s buried to the hilt. We both freeze
for a second, breathing hard, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, the
perfect, aching fit.
Then I start to move.
Slow at first, rolling my
hips in lazy circles that make him curse under his breath. His good hand slides
up to cup my breast again, thumb brushing my nipple in time with my rhythm. I
pick up speed, rising and falling, taking him deeper each time until the slap
of skin on skin fills the room along with our gasps and moans.
He meets me thrust for
thrust, hips snapping up, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst
behind my eyelids. His mouth finds my throat, my collarbone, sucking marks I
know I’ll feel tomorrow. I rake my nails down his back, not hard enough to hurt
the healing parts, just enough to make him growl and drive up harder.
“Ryder, fuck…I’m close?—”
