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“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, more a whisper than anything else, then red immediately steals onto his cheeks.
I make a mewling noise in my throat, clasp his face tenderly in my hands, and guide him to me. “So are you. Truly.”
This kiss has so much tenderness in it. His mouth and mine, eating at each other, our tongues blistering hot, stroking each other’s, our heavy breathing, the taste of myself still on his lips. I caress his scar with my thumbs and index finger as I hold his face, exploring the puckered whorls, the tight pulls, and the jagged valleys while I brush the silky smooth bits just beyond.
While I caress his scar, tracing the pattern of it over his nose and up to his forehead, my touch reverent and light, he sinks into me. My legs tremble and vibrate at his waist while I wriggle under him, shifting myself and canting my hips up so I can take his thick length as he stretches me painfully. He seats himself inside me, and for a second, I can’t breathe. The pain is white hot because he’s just that big, and I am a much smaller person than he is, but he waits, and the pain fades, replaced with pleasure so acute that I’m the one growling in my throat. I rock my hips, guiding him, letting my hand fall to his shoulder while I bury the other in his silky hair. I shiver violently when he starts to move inside me, the pleasure already coiling to a point where I feel like it’s going to snap.
Smoke’s hand flies to my face, holding me still, and I know if I open my eyes, he would be watching me, watching me get lost in the pleasure he’s giving me, and knowing he’s seeing it play out like a drama over my face, the shadows, the winces, my swollen lips panting because that’s all I can do, is so hot that it nearly sends me right over the edge.
I writhe desperately against him, thrusting with him, my hips rolling into him as he pistons into me. His hand slips down my face, and for just a second, it’s at my throat, his big fingers splayed there protectively and so gently. His thumb lingers when he lifts the others, right at the place where my pulse is leaping so hard that I can feel it slamming against the pad of his thumb.
He thrusts harder, still careful, and I know because the last time we did this, there was nothing careful in either of us. We were both unchained, and this is much tamer. Still, I don’t know if there’s such a thing as tame where Smoke is concerned. Not when his massive form is pressing me into the couch, not when his hand is at my neck, feeling my heart race for him, and not when he tortures me with delicious, slow, deliberate thrusts, pumping me so full of him that there is nothing else, and there never will be anything else. Right now, this is us, and this is where I exist.
“Smoke! Oh my god. Smoke…”
“Come for me, Ayana. I want to feel you climax all over my cock.”
I know he could go further. He knows I like this because the last time, both of us were sober, and the dirty things he said made me deliciously drunk. I have never had anyone say those things to me, things he said that night. I’ve never been bold enough to say the things I’ve wanted to say, but he drew the words from me and made me shameless. It wasn’t enough that our bodies were a perfect fit. He gave me a chance to be what I’ve always wanted to be, to unleash and lose control and be absolutely okay with the power of my own body. He let me see that there was nothing wrong with what we were doing, what we needed from each other, and what our bodies could do together.
He can probably tell that I’m close, and he doesn’t need to say any more wonderful dirty things to me to send me over the edge.
He speaks through his actions instead. One more hard roll of his hips, one more cant of my own, one more hard thrust, and I’m finished. The pressure that’s been building in me since I freaking got here for dinner bursts, and the explosion of pleasure sweeps over me, gunning through my bloodstream and breaking me wide open. I thrash my head, tearing at Smoke’s T-shirt and hearing his muted grunts coming at me through the fog of pleasure. He pistons into me, still controlled, but I can tell he’s close. The waves keep coming at me, but I’m still aware of him, aware of the pressure and the sensation, the breath stilted in my lungs, and the last vestiges of my sanity tearing clean away.
