And then he started moving.
Thrusting up into me. Hard.
My breath caught in my throat. My hands flew to his chest, trying to brace myself, but it didn't matter. He had me. His gripkept me exactly where he wanted me, and all I could do was take it.
“Fuck—” I gasped, my voice breaking.
He didn't slow down. Didn't ease up. He kept going, pounding into me with a tempo that made my whole body shake.
“Stay right there,” he growled, his voice harsh and strained. His hands sank into my back, holding me in place. “Don't move.”
I couldn't even if I wanted to.
Every thrust hit deeper than the last. Harder. More deliberate. Like he was putting everything he had into it—all that frustration, all that pent-up energy he'd been holding back since the shooting.
My body was still trembling from my last orgasm, oversensitive and raw, but he didn't care. He kept going. Kept taking what he needed.
“Kyrie—” I whimpered, my nails digging into his chest.
“I know,” he groaned, his jaw tight. “Just—fuck?—”
His breathing was ragged now. Heavy. And I could feel the way his body worked, the way he favored his right side, the way his left shoulder stayed tense and still against the bed. But none of that stopped him.
If anything, it made him go harder.
His hand slid up from my back, rough and deliberate, until it found my breast. He palmed it first—squeezed it—then his thumb brushed my nipple.
My breath hitched. And then he pinched it. Not soft. Not careful. Just enough to make me gasp and arch into him.
“Fuck…” I whimpered, my whole body jerking.
“Yeah,” he groaned, his voice low and satisfied. “That's what I thought.”
He didn't let go. He kept his grip on my nipple, rolling it between his fingers while he thrust up into me, matching everymovement with another wave of sensation that made my head spin.
It was too much. The way he was pounding into me. The way his hand worked my breast and the way he watched me fall apart and didn't let up for a second.
Like he had something to prove. Like he needed this just as much as I did.
“Fuck, Sianni—” he groaned, his voice breaking. His grip on me tightened, and I felt him shift his angle just slightly, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur.
“Oh, my God—” I gasped, my whole body jerking again.
“That's it,” he growled. “Feel that shit.”
And I did. I felt every single thrust. Every shift. Every second of him losing himself inside me.
The bed creaked beneath us. My breath came in short, desperate gasps. And all I could do was hold on while he took over completely.
His pace quickened. His breathing turned harsher. And I felt the way his body started to tense and the way his movements became more erratic, more desperate.
“Fuck….” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. “I'm?—”
He didn't finish the sentence.
His whole body went rigid beneath me. His arm locked around me even tighter, pulling me down onto him as he thrust up one last time, deep, hard, unrelenting.
And then I felt it.
