Page 30 of The Break Down

Too fucking much.

I pull back just a breath. My body still curved over hers, fingers still inside her, my mouth still ghosting her lips, but I can't take it.

I reach down and grip my cock, thick and leaking and aching for her.

She looks down, dazed, eyes wild and starving.

And I growl—feral, unfiltered—“Look what you do to me, Red. Fuck.”

She doesn’t speak.

Can’t.

Her lips part, but no words come.

Just heat. Just need.

Then she reaches down, and her small hand wraps around my shaft. Barely.

Her fingers don’t even meet.

But I don’t care. I hiss, hips jerking into her palm as she strokes me. Tentative at first, then with purpose.

I’m already throbbing. Already so fucking close I’m shaking.

“Here,” she says, breathless, and lifts her shirt.

And it’s over.

I groan, low and guttural, as thick streams of cum shoot across her belly and up onto her breasts, coating that gorgeous pale skin.

I curse—loud, broken—as the pressure breaks, and I spill every ounce of my need all over her like it’s a goddamn offering.

She’s gasping, wide-eyed, watching me. And that look? That look like she loves being ruined by me?

My cock fucking twitches again.

And just as I’m catching my breath, still panting, still trembling, her pussy clamps down on my fingers.

Hard.

“Fuck—Finley,” I grit out, thumb sliding over her clit in three tight, punishing circles, and she breaks.

Her whole body goes rigid, thighs locking around my hand, and she comes again.

It’s louder, wetter this time. So goddamn beautiful I nearly come again just watching her.

My other hand fists in her hair, keeping her eyes on me.

She’s panting, wrecked. Her chest is rising and falling in fast, shallow gasps, my cum glistening on her tits, her slick coating my fingers, and I swear—I've never seen anything more sacred.

She’s the perfect contradiction.

Filthy and innocent.

Soft and unyielding.

Mine.

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