He backs away. I collapse against the bed, face down, trembling, my fingers still twisted in the sheets.
I hear a drawer open. The tear of foil. The click of a cap.
"You’re not quite sorry enough," he says.
I want to cry. I think I am crying.
He rolls me onto my back carefully. Almost tender. The whiplash of it makes my head spin. One hand strokes himself as I watch him roll on the condom and slick himself with lube. His eyes never leave mine. Watching me watch him.
"Give me a show, baby. And I'll think about fucking your ass and letting you come all over my dick."
My breath hitches. I need this. I slide my legs open and sit up. Circle my clit slowly, holding his gaze. Letting him see everything. The flush on my chest. The way my stomachtightens. The way my lips part when I sink two fingers inside myself and let my head fall back.
"Ace," I call out.
I need something to summon him.
It works. He's across the room in two strides, and his face is between my legs before I can take another breath. His tongue swipes up through me toward my clit, and the sound he makes against my skin is animal.
"Fuck, Goldie," he growls.
"I can't. Fuck. Ace." I'm barely forming words. My fingers grip his hair, and I ride his face, chasing the release he still hasn't given me permission for, and I don't care anymore, I don't care about the rules, I just need him.
He pulls away and clambers over me, laying me back down. His weight settles over me, and I feel the press of him between my thighs.
My nails dig into his back as he pushes my leg up against my chest. I lift my hips. He positions himself at the entrance of my ass and pauses. Just enough for the anticipation to scream through every nerve.
"Color?" he asks. And he's grinning. The bastard is grinning. He knows the damn answer.
"The greenest green flag that has ever existed," I say.
He pushes in slowly. My mouth falls open. His lips crash over mine, swallowing the sound I make, and the fullness of him, the stretch, the pressure, the overwhelming closeness of his body on top of mine and inside me and everywhere at once is almost too much.
Almost.
"So fucking tight, Harper. Fuck. You can come." He grits out.
"Thank you," I breathe.
He tilts my body toward him, hitches my leg higher so he can go deeper. His other hand finds my clit and circles it in time witheach thrust, and the dual sensation is so intense my back arches off the bed.
"That's it, baby."
I crash over the edge, screaming his name. Not the careful, muffled version. The full, unrestrained version that echoes off the walls and probably reaches the barn, and I do not care.
He fucks me through it. Every wave. Every aftershock. His forehead pressed against mine, his breath ragged, his hand still working me, drawing it out until I'm boneless and shaking and the tears I was holding back are streaming down my temples into my hair.
He follows me over. I feel it. The way his body locks. The way his rhythm breaks. The way he says my name like a prayer against my throat as he lets go.
We stay like that. His weight on me, his face in my neck, my arms around his back, my fingers tracing the scratches I've left on his skin.
He presses a kiss to my collarbone, then my jaw. Then the corner of my mouth.
"You okay?" he murmurs.
"I'm so far past okay, I need a new word for it."
He laughs. "That's my girl."
