Page 60 of For Pucking Ever

When breathing becomes a necessity, I pull back just enough to gulp in air, my forehead resting against his. His breath fans across my face, warm and minty, our exhales mingling in the scant space between us. My heart pounds so hard I swear he must feel it where our chests press together.

"I need you," I whisper, the confession torn from somewhere deep inside me. It's more than just physical want, it's a bone-deep ache, a hunger for all of him, every complicated, beautiful piece.

His hands slide up to frame my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones with surprising tenderness. "J'ai besoin de toi," I need you, he murmurs, his accent thicker than I've ever heard it, emotion making his voice rough around the edges.

My French isn’t the best, but I don't need to be. The meaning is clear in his eyes, in the way his body responds to mine, in the slight tremble of his fingers against my skin.

"Bedroom?" I manage to ask, already rocking slightly against him, my body operating on instinct and need.

He shakes his head, surprising me. "Non. Here. Now." His hands slide down to grip my hips, fingers digging into muscle with delicious pressure. "I want to see you. All of you."

"Yes," I breathe, already reaching for the hem of my shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. "God, yes."

His hands catch mine, stilling them. "Let me," he says, the command soft but unmistakable.

I drop my hands to my sides, surrendering control to him. Slowly, with reverence that makes my throat tight, he lifts my hoodie, knuckles deliberately grazing my abs, my chest, as he pushes the fabric up. I raise my arms, allowing him to pull it off completely, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps across my newly exposed skin.

His eyes roam over me, taking in every inch with an intensity that feels almost physical. "Tu es magnifique," you are beautiful, he murmurs, hands following the path his gaze just traveled, mapping the contours of my shoulders, my chest, my stomach.

I shiver under his touch, hyperaware of every point of contact between us. "Your turn," I manage, tugging at his henley with impatient fingers.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips before he leans forward, allowing me to pull the shirt over his head. And then, oh God, there he is, all bronze skin and defined muscle, the intricate designs of his tattoo sleeve stark against his shoulder and bicep. I've seen him shirtless countless times, but this is different. This is for me. This is mine.

My hands explore greedily, tracing the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, learning him through touch. The warmth of his skin radiates against my palms as I memorize every dip and curve of muscle. When my fingers brush across his nipple, he hisses, head falling back slightly, exposing the strong column of his throat. I can't resist leaning forward to press my lips there, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling his pulse racing beneath my mouth, the thundering rhythm matching my own frantic heartbeat.

"Derrick," he groans, my name a prayer and a plea on his lips, his accent wrapping around the syllables in a way that sends electricity down my spine.

I roll my hips experimentally, even through layers of clothing the delicious friction between us making us both gasp. Heat coils low in my belly, tension builds with each movement. His hands fly to my waist, fingers digging into flesh hard enough to leave marks, guiding my movements, creating a rhythm that has me seeing stars behind my eyelids. The pressure builds, sweet and maddening.

"I want—" I start, my voice ragged and desperate, but can't finish the thought, overcome by sensation. Words fail me as his hands slide lower, cupping my ass and pulling me tighter against him.

"Tell me what you want, Princesse," he urges, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck, his grip firm but gentle, holding me steady, forcing me to meet his gaze.

Those dark eyes bore into mine, pupils blown wide with desire, leaving only a thin ring of color. The vulnerability there, carefully hidden behind desire, a crack in his usually impenetrable armor, nearly undoes me. My chest aches with something far beyond physical want. In this moment, I'm not afraid of anything. Not the past, not the future, not the complications that await us beyond this room. Just this. Just us. Just the way our bodies speak a language our words never could.

"Everything," I answer truthfully, my voice raw with emotion I don't try to hide. My fingers brush over his head, holding him to me. "I want everything with you."

TWENTY-THREE

SEBASTIAN

The silence between us is charged, electric, as Derrick's words echo in the air, "I want everything with you." His body is a warm weight on my lap, his breath mingling with mine. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, or is it my own? I can't tell where he ends and I begin. His eyes, those deep brown pools, search mine, filled with a hunger that matches my own. But there's more than just desire, there's a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

I shift slightly beneath him, my hands firm on his hips, thumbs tracing the jut of his hipbones, grounding him, anchoring him to this moment. This isn't just about fucking anymore. This is about claiming, about making him mine in every way possible. I want to brand every inch of his skin, every crevice of his heart. I lean in, closing the distance between us, capturing his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. It's a promise, a declaration of intent. His lips are soft, pliant, opening up to me like a flower seeking the sun. He lets me in, granting me access to his warmth, his taste, his very essence. His breath hitches, mingling with mine, as our tongues dance in a rhythm that's uniquely ours. The kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, more passionate, as if we're trying to pour our souls into each other. His fingers dig into my shoulders, holding on tight, as if he's afraid to let go, afraid to lose this connection that's sparking between us like a live wire. The room fades away, leaving only us, lost in this moment, lost in each other.

Our clothes come off gradually, a quiet, wordless sequence. Derrick peels my pants off, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I run my fingers along his bare back, feeling the muscles ripple under my touch. The contact lingers, rich in tactile sensation, skin on skin, heated breath, the rasp of fabric sliding away.

When we're finally bare, I pull back, just enough to look at him. Really look at him. His dark skin is flushed, a warm amber glow spreading across his chest and up his neck, his curls a wild halo around his head, untamed and perfect. The lamplight catches the contours of his body, highlighting the gentle curves and sharp angles that I've memorized with my hands but never truly appreciated with my eyes. A constellation of small freckles decorates his left shoulder, I've never noticed them before. I want to trace them with my fingertips, connect them like stars.

He's beautiful, fucking beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes my throat tight, that makes me want to capture him on canvas, to immortalize this moment when he's laid bare before me, not just physically but emotionally. He's mine. All mine. The possessiveness surprises me; I've never wanted to claim anyone like this, never felt this desperate need to hold onto someone as if they might dissolve into smoke. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once this vulnerability. I've spent years building walls, keeping people at a distance, but Derrick has slipped through every defense without even trying.

"Ton corps, ton cœur, tout est à moi ce soir," I say, my voice a low growl. Your body, your heart, all of it is mine tonight. I want to say forever, but I hold back the declaration. For now, tonight is enough. My mouth collides with his and I devour his mouth.

Derrick whimpers, his body arching into mine. "Please," he begs, gripping my dick, stroking in time with the licks of my tongue in his mouth. He's trembling, his body coiled tight with need.

"You want me inside you, Princesse. To fuck you. To claim you. To make you all mine," I say, lifting him off my lap and positioning him on his back on the couch. He spreads his thighs for me, opening himself up completely. The sight of him laid bare for me is intoxicating. Every delicious inch of his body is on display, just for me.

"Yes. Everything," he pants, his chest heaving with each breath.