Page 89 of Lennox Lane

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained but steady. "Don't look away. I want to see you when you come apart on me."

The rhythm built gradually, Lennox setting a pace that was maddeningly controlled, each stroke hitting just right, his pelvis grinding against her with every thrust. He talked her through it, filthy encouragement falling from his lips like prayers.

"You feel that? Feel how deep I am? That's yours, Lane. All of it. I've been saving this for you. Saving this feeling of being inside you, wrapped around you, fucking you like you deserve to be fucked—with patience, with purpose, with every intention of making you scream."

She was trembling beneath him, her body tightening around him involuntarily, pleasure coiling tight in her belly. He felt it, his smile dark and knowing.

"That's it. Let go for me. I want to feel you come on me. I want to feel you pulse around me when you let it happen." He shifted his angle, hitting something that made white light spark behind her eyes. "Right there? That spot that makes you forget your name? I'm going to keep hitting it until you have no choice, until you're begging me not to stop, until you're mine in every way that matters."

Lane cried out, the sound raw and unguarded, and Lennox captured it with his mouth, kissing her through the rising tide of sensation. His thrusts became more insistent, losing some of their careful control, his own breathing ragged against her lips.

"Touch yourself," he growled. "I want to feel you come with my name in your mouth and your fingers where mine are. Show me how you make yourself feel good. Show me what I've been missing."

She reached between them, her fingers finding her clit, circling in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation—his hardness filling her, his weight pressing her down, his voice in her ear—unraveled her.

"That's my girl," he praised, his hips snapping harder now, losing rhythm. "So beautiful. So fucking beautiful taking me. You gonna come for me? You gonna let me feel it?"

"Yes," she gasped, her head falling back, her body tensing. "Lennox, I⁠—"

"Say it when you come," he demanded, his voice breaking. "Say my name so I know who owns this. Who owns you right now."

The orgasm crashed through her with devastating force, starting where they joined and radiating outward until she was shaking, crying out his name in broken repetition, her body clamping down on him so hard he groaned like he was dying.

"Fuck, Lane. Fuck—" He buried his face in her neck, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. "I'm gonna—shit, you feel too good, baby, I can't⁠—"

He came with a sound that was almost anguish, spilling inside her with deep, shuddering thrusts, his whole body trembling against hers, his grip on her hands tightening almost painfully.

They collapsed together, breathing hard, sweat-slicked skin sticking and sliding. He didn't pull out immediately. He stayed there, still filling her, his weight a comfort rather than a burden, his mouth finding hers in lazy, satisfied kisses.

"You good, Mama?" he asked, his voice rough, his hand coming up to brush hair from her face.

Lane couldn't speak. She nodded, her eyes wet, her chest still heaving.

He smiled, soft and private, and rolled them onto their sides without breaking their connection, tucking her against him. His hand traced patterns down her spine, over the curve of her hip, possessive and tender.

"You're incredible," he murmured. "Every part of you. The way you let me in. The way you sound when you're falling apart. The way you look at me like I'm worth something."

Lane pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in, feeling the aftershocks ripple through her in gentle waves.

Later, when they were tangled beneath the comforter and Lane's cheek rested against his chest, Lennox traced lazy patterns along her spine.

"Still with me?" he asked.

"Still here," she whispered.

"Good." His hand paused, then continued its path. "Stay there awhile."

Lane smiled into his skin. “You’re demanding, you know that?”

“Only about you, Lav.”

Another dangerous sentence.

She closed her eyes. “I’m a lot to handle Lennox Jackson.”

His lips brushed her forehead. “You’re not. You’ve just convinced yourself you are as a defense mechanism.”

“I’m scared.”