Page 38 of Dirty Little Mistake

"It's yours," I moaned, the words carrying more weight than just passion. "I'm yours." Eight weeks suddenly felt like an eternity.

"And I'm yours," he whispered, but there was an edge of desperation in his voice that matched the grip of his fingers on my hip.

As he rocked into me, slow and deep, I wondered if he was trying to leave part of himself behind, something I could hold onto during the endless nights ahead. Each thrust felt like a promise neither of us was sure we could keep.

I gasped as my fingers curled into the sheets in front of me as he pushed deeper and deeper.

All of his muscles flexed. His cock pulsating inside me as he stilled. His labored breathing filled the quiet room. His palm spread wide across my stomach, steadying me. "Are you okay?"

I rocked my hips back against him, seeking more contact, more friction, more everything. "Yes." The word came out breathless, needy. My fingers found his wrist, squeezing. "Please, don't stop."

He withdrew slowly, the torturous pace making my breath catch. Then his hips snapped forward, harder this time, faster, filling me completely.

My head pressed back into him, spine arching. "Trystan." His name fell from my lips like a prayer. My fingers twisted in the sheets, searching for an anchor. "More, please."

His fingers found their rhythm against my clit, matching each slow thrust of his hips. My body caught fire everywhere he touched, pleasure building with each deliberate stroke.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter until my thighs began to shake. "Oh my god." My body clenched around him as the orgasm crashed through me, every nerve ending sparking to life.

Trystan's teeth scraped against my earlobe, his chest pressed tight against my back. "Fuck." His rhythm faltered for just amoment. "I love hearing you come just as much as I love making you come."

He removed his hand, shifting his weight and rolling me to my stomach, his legs squeezing mine together.

His cock swelled inside me, and my pussy squeezed him, begging him for more, sucking him deeper inside me.

Shifting his weight, he pressed me deeper into the mattress. "I'm going to fuck you now, baby, fast and hard." My insides twisted with anticipation, fingers curling into the sheets until my knuckles went white. His breath came hot against my neck. "If you want me to stop, I will."

I pushed back against him, desperate for more contact. "Don't stop."

His grip tightened on my hips—the only warning before he snapped forward in one brutal stroke. The cry that escaped my lips wasn't quiet. Our bodies moved together, slick with sweat, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room mixed with our ragged breathing.

His hands fisted in the sheets beside my head, caging me beneath him. The power in his movements made me feel deliciously helpless, caught between his body and the mattress.

His heavy breathing in my ear sent a wave of heat spreading through me as each thrust became more desperate, frantic, like he was trying to outrun the sunrise.

I buried my face in the sheets to muffle my moans as his hip ground into my ass.

His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just hard enough to arch my neck back. The movement exposed my throat to his lips, and he took full advantage, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below my ear. "Don't do that." His hips snapped forward, driving deep enough to make my toes curl. His next words came out dark and hungry against my skin. "I want to hear every sound that comes out of that pretty mouth while I'm fucking you."

My thighs trembled, squeezing tighter together as the pressure built. "Trystan, I'm going to come."

His thrusts grew wild, desperate. "Come with me, baby." His fingers dug into my hip hard enough to leave marks—marks I secretly hoped would stay.

Our bodies vibrated together as the pleasure crested. His growl of my name mixed with my cries, the sound echoing off the walls. The intensity of it left us both shaking.

Trystan's head dropped against my shoulder, his chest heaving against my back. "Holy fuck." His breath came in ragged gasps. He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. "I really don't want to leave today."

I traced my fingers along his chest, following the rapid rise and fall. "It's only eight weeks, and I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

The mattress dipped as he turned to face me. His fingers found my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "You promise?"

I leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss against his palm. "I promise." The words felt heavy with everything we weren't saying.

The truth crowded my throat, bitter as coffee grounds: I didn't want him to leave. Not just today—any day. Ever. In a few hours, he'd drive away toward his dream, toward a world filled with new faces, new opportunities, new groupies, new everything. And I'd be here, counting days on a calendar, trying to convince myself that this could stretch across eight weeks without breaking.

My fingers found the indent his teeth had left on my shoulder, pressing until it hurt. At least this mark would last a little while. In this moment, wrapped in sheets that still held our heat, I had to believe we'd make it because the alternative was heartbreaking.

Chapter 18

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