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His thumb strokes my chest where his fingers stay splayed over my heart, and trust flows between us like a sacred bond. Primal. Ancient. Unconfined as he quickens his pace and something—everything—inside me gives way to the pleasure unfurling between us.

Sweet heat becomes raw fire.

An undefinable need for more rips through me and my body strains to be closer to Poet.

He reads me and drives his cock deeper, harder, faster, leaning back so I can see it, though his eyes never leave mine.

I am stretched and full in places I didn’t know existed. I clutch Poet’s hips, canting mine, one leg hooked around him, the other sprawled wide.

But I still need more, even if it scares me a little.

I curl my other leg around him and groan at the sharper angle, spiralling into that otherworldly place I’ve only ever been with him. I am aware of my cock—how hard it is as he wraps his calloused hand around it. How he works me in time with the relentless thrust of him inside me.

But I am out of my body.

Out of my mind.

Out of control and I love it.

I love him.

My eyes have fallen closed.

I force them open.

Poet’s blue gaze is right there, desire and affection swimming in the depths. Watchful as he fucks me. So, so watchful.

He loves me too.

I don’t know how I am so certain. But my heart knows it and the last of me capitulates, even if I am too addled by him to truly comprehend what it means.

Poet fucks me harder, though I know he is still being careful with me. Still gentle, if the way he is fucking me can be called such a thing. Grinding thrusts that seem to twist through me. Clenching pleasure coiling so tight I know I’ll shatter entirely when it breaks.

I want to break.

For him.

With him.

“Poet.”

“Oscar.”

I smile through clenched teeth. “I like this.”

“I know.”

Of course he does.

I flex my spine, a slave to the friction of his hand and the pulsing throb of his cock. Mind-blowing sensation dizzies me. I know I am going to come soon and I don’t fight it. I make a conscious choice to welcome it and what happens next is instinct I’m powerless to resist.

Bowing from the mattress, I grip his hips and hold him tight against me, forcing him deeper and keeping him there as release kicks me in the chest, barrelling through me so perfect and human it cuts me in two.

Hot, hard jolts.

Curling waves.

I feel it everywhere from my toes to my sightless eyes, and I am so consumed by it I think I might howl like a wolf. Not an orgasm, but an undoing. A healing, wrapped up in something we are not meant to understand—not yet.