Page 77 of Fate Fiction

“T-touch me,” I whined. He gazed at me, through the dark I could see his eyes fixed on mine, the dim warm light caught glints of icy blue. Without breaking eye contact he slid a finger inside me, curling it teasingly while stroking my clit with his thumb.

“Like this?” he asked teasingly.

“Fuck,” I gritted out. “Exactly like that.”

Another finger slid in, then another, and he pumped his hand rhythmically as he braced himself on the bed.

“You’re the first woman I’ve fantasized about seeing like this in years,” he said in a raspy voice hardly above a whisper.

He guided himself into me, his tip breached the space between my flesh. He moved slowly, letting my body familiarize with his. Intertwining the two of us in ways that were getting more and more impossible to unravel.

It was too much, I stared up at the ceiling past him to try to make sense of it all, the feeling of him moving inside me. My body stretching to make room for him, the tightness slipping into something euphoric.

Evan’s hand caught my chin and angled my head back towards him. “Hey,” he exhaled, ragged and raw. “Eyes on me, love.”

My eyes snapped towards him, I could make out the blurred outline of his torso and his face. I could see him bite at his lower lip as his restraint swiftly slipped.

As he filled me to the hilt I wriggled below him, hips twitching. It felt good. He felt good.

Better than good.

“Dani,” he rasped. “My god you feel incredible.”

He pulled himself out, his breath shuddering with each centimeter.

A thrust.

I gasped in shock. His hips rocked back and forth, and I moved my own in the same rhythm.

Evan McLeod was fucking me, and it felt better than I could have ever imagined. In the show the only glimpses of physicality between the leads were “fade to black” scenes where he pulled Lady Premble into private corridors or hidden stairwells never turned into more than a few teasing words and light touches. I’d never written out a sex scene with Sir Erwyn in such graphic detail, and I don’t think I ever could.

Something buried deep in my subconscious knew why now.

The sensation of his body on top of mine and the explosions of fireworks that crossed my vision with every thrust couldn’t be put into words. I was living something the English language would never accurately capture.

The precipice was building. Evan’s hand balled into a fist around the sheets, the veins in his arms popping from his skin as he pumped himself faster and faster. Another moan teased at my lips, I was so, so close.

“Attagirl,” he growled. “Finish for me.”

Just as a scream was about to rip out of my throat, Evan’s hand clamped over my mouth, muffling the sound. Every inhale was heat and pine scented soap and musk. Fire coursed through me, spiraling in my core like a spinning top. “Fuck, Evan!” my cry was deafened by his hand as I found myself fluttering around him.

Evan swiftly pulled himself out and reached for the closest piece of dirty laundry, finishing into it.

He collapsed in a heap beside me. I wrapped my arm around him and placed kisses on his bare shoulder as he too came back to earth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For?”

“Letting me do this with you,” Evan turned his head towards me, “it was incredible, you’re incredible.”

A space hung after his statement, one I could have filled with self-deprecating words or claims that I should be the one thanking him for fucking a lowlife normal person like myself, but I didn’t let them come to fruition.

“I’m really, really happy we did,” I said instead, and laid my palm on his cheek, brushing his lower lip with my thumb.

For a few minutes, there was no countdown, no outside world, even no Sue and no Randy. There was us, this bed with its messy sheets, and our slowing breaths.

This is where I wanted to be for the rest of the week, frozen in time next to Evan.