He lets her hair slip through his fingers, calloused hands mapping her body like it holds the answers to every question.
“Why don’t you get on and ride me, and let me join in this time,” he teases.
And despite herself, she wants to.
“Okay,” she breathes.
He pulls out of her, pleasure vanishing along with his cock, and without him she feels hollow.
He lies down, hands intertwined behind his head.
Thought rushes back in, so she straddles him, gripping his cock, and lowering herself onto him in a single, smooth movement.
She moans. Like he’s a prayer answered. Sweat slides between their bodies, skin against skin becoming slick and hot and impossible to ignore.
“That’s better,” he praises.
“What?” she breathes.
“I want to watch you work,” he says, biting his lower lip, and bracketing her hips with his hands. “Worship you from here.”
The words pool low in her belly. The desire he holds for her is so clear, so pure.
She rocks her hips, desperate for pleasure to build again, thoughts of eye contact or closeness lost to presence.
“You wrap around me so tight, Jaxxy,” he praises, and his words send a pulse of pleasure straight to her clit.
She grinds against him, craving friction, but he’s already read her movements like music—every melody building to a crescendo. Every drag of his cock against that sensitive spot inside her makes her thoughts dissolve further.
His thumb finds her clit, and he applies even pressure in small, slow circles. His chest flexes beneath her hands withevery breath, every movement, every quiet sound he tries and fails to suppress. His breathing grows rougher with every passing heartbeat, like watching her unravel is undoing him too.
“Gods,” Jax murmurs, head dropping back in rapture.
His other hand snakes up her body and finds her breast. He massages it in rhythmic waves, the movement lulling her into hypnotic bliss. He rolls her nipple between his fingers, and doesn’t miss a beat, returning to massaging her breast and stroking her clit in masterful synergy.
She loses herself to it.
Her hips roll and grind.
Pleasure builds at her core.
She throws her hands back until they rest on Ronyn’s thighs, and her eyes close down like this is where euphoria lives.
“Show me how you come, Jaxxy. I want to watch you knowing it’s my cock that got you there,” Ronyn encourages, holding the pace her body responds to.
“I love watching you move like this. I love watching you get lost in me. In this.”
And his words tip her over. The selflessness in them. The joy he gets from giving to her.
Pleasure detonates, erupting through her core like a wave of bliss.
She moans, and it sounds like relief. Like the sound a woman makes when she chooses herself.
“Perfection,” Ronyn murmurs, the sound of him distorted through the haze of ecstasy.
She rides every wave of pleasure, crests them until they crash.
Ronyn doesn’t remove his thumb, his hand, just keeping the pressure, the momentum, until every last drop of pleasure is wrung from her body.
