She was a virgin. The knowledge made me careful, reverent. I moved slowly, so slowly, circling my thumb over her clit as I eased inside her inch by inch.
God, she was tight—gripping me in a way that made it hard to think. She was so wet her clit was slippery under my thumb, swollen and slick, and every little circle I made drew another broken sound from her throat. Her eyes closed and she sighed, the sound turning into a soft, shaky moan as her body opened around me.
"Look at you," I whispered against her mouth. "God, Breanna. Look at you."
She whimpered, hips shifting, and her hands slid up my back, nails digging in just enough to make me groan. Then her legs wrapped around my waist, heels pressing into the small of my back, pulling me deeper.
She writhed beneath me, back arching, flushed and glowing in the pulsing gold light. The sight of her like that nearly undid me right there.
I kept that steady rhythm, thumb working her slippery clit in tight, slick circles while I sank a little deeper each time. She was taking me so well, her body drawing me in. For us.
Her moans grew louder, breathier—little gasps turning into desperate cries that mixed with the river's murmur and the soft rustle of the grasses. "Bishop—oh God?—"
"There you go," I murmured against her throat. "Don't hold back. I've got you."
She did. Her whole body tightened, legs locking harder around me, pulling me all the way in as she came—pulsing in long, rhythmic waves around me, so tight and wet and perfect it stole my breath. Her body shuddered against mine, and the sounds she made—raw, needy, mine—pushed me right over the edge with her.
I buried myself deep and came hard, spilling inside her with a groan that I felt in every part of me, every pulse of my release matched by the way her body milked me. The fireflies kept drifting overhead, and for one perfect moment, the whole world narrowed to nothing but her.
We were still tangled together, breathing hard, when we heard voices downstream—low, laughing, someone paddling in the dark.
Her eyes flew open in panic. "My shirt—my bra—they're right by the raft. Anyone who comes around the bend will see them."
I kissed her once, hard and fast, because I couldn't help it. Then I rolled off her, yanked on my shorts, and stood.
"I've got them," I said, already moving down the bank toward the water and her scattered clothes. "Stay right there, Breanna. I'm coming back for you."
And I would. Always.
