Page 113 of Dissonance

“Please,” she breathes, cheeks already flushed.

I grip the thin waistband and pull, the sound of it tearing obscene in the quiet of the room. The sound of her gasp? That’s better.

“I’ll replace them,” I say, dropping what’s left onto the floor.

I don’t give her time to reply, my fingers running through her—slick and hot—and the sound she makes when I push inside her spurs me on, her tight cunt clenching around me.

Her eyes flutter closed. “Oh God.”

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” I curl my fingers, finding exactly where she needs it. And she does, her gaze darkening, lip caught between her teeth, chest rising too fast. “Good lass.”

I work her in unhurried strokes, watching every flicker of pleasure cross her face, knowing exactly what makes her gasp and whimper, what makes her lose it entirely. My cock aches to be inside her, but she looks so fucking beautiful like this.

“Right there,” she moans, her grip on my shoulders turning white-knuckled. “Don’t stop, please, don’t—”

I add my thumb, the pressure on her clit making her cry out, back bowing off the mattress, hips chasing my hand in a way that does something feral to every last shred of patience I have. She whimpers when I pull my fingers free, dripping with her arousal, and use them to coat my cock.

“Move onto your side for me,” I say, pressing my lips to her shoulder, her neck, the curve of her ear as she shifts.

I curl around her from behind, one arm beneath her, the other bracing her hip, the length of her body pressed against mine, her back to my chest.

“Lockie—”

“I’ve got you,” I say, lining myself up.

The heat of her already makes it difficult to remember why I was ever careful about anything in the first place. Her hand finds my thigh, fingers pressing in, pulling me closer.

As I push inside her slowly, the sound that tears from her mirrors the one I’m swallowing back. She’s tight and perfect and hot, her cunt like a vise around my cock. Bottoming out, I suck in a breath. It feels like the first time. Only now, I can see the rest of my life in front of me, and she’s in every part of it.

My forehead buries in her hair, every muscle pulling taut with the effort of not moving yet.

“Okay, baby?”

“Move,” she whimpers. “Please move.”

She reaches up, hand finding the back of my neck, fingers curling in as we find our rhythm. Her hips roll back to meet mine, my cock driving forward, the bedframe groaning beneath us. Neither of us cares; neither of us are quiet. I’m completely done pretending I ever had any restraint where this woman is concerned.

“Lockie—I’m—”

I thrust harder, feeling her clench around me, my lips finding that spot on her throat and sucking hard. Her whole body pulls tight, then releases, my name falling from her lips like a prayer. I work her through every second, dragging out her orgasm until there’s nothing left, and she’s trembling, her grip on my neck loosening as I follow her over, face buried in her hair, spilling deep inside her.

For a long moment, we don’t move, wrecked and panting. I lift my head to look at her as she turns a little, a sated smile on her lips.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

Gently, I pull out, and she shifts to face me, reaching up and brushing my hair from my forehead, trailing her fingers down my jaw and over my beard. I press my lips to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, back to being careful now as I tuck her into my side. Her head rests on my shoulder, fingers tracing patterns on my chest, lingering over the scars.

The room’s darkened while we weren’t paying attention, moonlight glinting through the curtains.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks eventually, voice soft.

“Aye.”

She doesn’t speak straight away, like she’s finding the right words.

“Calum. What was he like?”