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Without another word, I push in slowly, sinking deep until I’m buried to the hilt.
Her inner walls clasp around me like a velvet vice, and it takes every shred of self-control not to start moving immediately. But I force myself to stay completely still, giving her body time to adjust to my size.
“How does it feel, gorgeous?” I murmur.
“I feel so full,” she pants. “I want you to move now.”
Instantly, my control shatters.
I draw back and thrust into her with a force that has us both groaning. Each movement is raw, powerful, driven by a hunger that's been simmering between us for as long as I can remember.
“Goddamn baby, your pussy feels like a fucking dream,” I pant, my hips setting a relentless pace. “So fucking wet and tight.”
She meets each of my drives with a roll of her hips, her hands clawing at the sheets, at my back, anywhere she can reach. The sight of her beneath me—flushed, wild, undone—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
But I still need more.
"Say it, Fiona,” I growl, needing to hear the words from her lips. "Tell me how much you love it."
"Y-Yes!" she cries out, her voice breaking on the word. "I love it, Wes! I love being yours!"
Her admission fans the flames inside me, and I lose myself in the rhythm, in the sound of our bodies slapping together, in the sweet friction that builds with every thrust.
She's close, I can tell by the way her breath hitches, by the desperate arch of her body against mine.
“Then let go,” I command, my voice rough with desire. “Come for me.”
And she does.
Her orgasm crashes over her, her entire body tensing before she shatters, her scream filling the room as she clamps down around me. It triggers my own release, a hot rush that has me seeing stars as I spill into her with a hoarse shout of her name.
Slowly, I collapse beside her, pulling her into my arms, our limbs entangling naturally. Her head rests against my chest, her breathing gradually calming, and I can't help but marvel at the turn of events.
The fight and the lust between us finally been replaced with something tender, something that feels dangerously like more.
“That was amazing,” she says with a sleepy giggle.
“It was,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hair. She hums in response, snuggling closer, and contentment fills me, warm and deep.
In this quiet afterglow, with her in my arms, I realize I'm happier than I've ever been. And I know, without a doubt, that I'll do whatever it takes to keep her here with me.
I wakeup the next morning to a faint light seeping through the edges of the curtains.
After our rendezvous yesterday, the rest of the board arrived at the campground. Our team spent the rest of the day in meetings, discussing strategies and planning for the upcoming transition. Fiona and I were able to keep things professionalfor appearance's sake, but I still snuck over to her cabin after everyone went to sleep.
Instinctively, my hand reaches out, searching for the familiar curve of Fiona's body. But there's an unexpected chill on one side of the bed.
My eyes flick to the digital clock perched on the nightstand—5:47 AM.
Does she really get up this early?
With a reluctant groan, I push myself upright, the mattress creaking under my weight. Then I pull on a pair of sweatpants and pad out to the living room.
As I suspected, Fiona is sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes glued to the laptop in front of her. She's already dressed for the day and her long hair is pulled into a high ponytail. A cup of coffee sits next to her, steam rising from it in thin tendrils.
“Morning, gorgeous,” I murmur as I approach her. “You’re up awfully early.”
"Hey, sorry," she replies absently without looking up. "Did I wake you up?"
