Page 6 of Our Bay Will Come

"These need to go," she murmurs, tugging at the waistband.

I strip them off, standing naked before her. Her eyes travel down my body, lingering appreciatively. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer until I'm pressed against her wet heat.

"Protection?" she asks, ever practical.

"Bedroom," I start to say, but she shakes her head.

"Did you bring any in here earlier? For pancakes?" There's a teasing glint in her eye.

"No, but?—"

"I'm on birth control, and I'm clean," she says. "Got tested after my last relationship. You?"

"Same. Tested three months ago. Nothing since."

She raises an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"No one worth the effort," I admit, and her expression softens for a moment before she masks it.

"Well then," she says, shifting her hips forward. "What are you waiting for?"

I align myself at her entrance, my gaze fixed on her face as I gently press forward. The sensation is overwhelming; she's incredibly tight and radiates heat around me, demanding every ounce of my self-control to maintain composure. Her nails bite into my shoulders, leaving small crescents as I gradually fill her, feeling her envelop me entirely.

"Fuck," I groan, overwhelmed by the sensation. "You feel amazing."

"Move," she commands with a husky urgency, and I comply, initiating a slow, deep rhythm that elicits a moan from her lips with every thrust. Her voice, low and breathy, mingles with the intensity of the moment.

I grip her hips firmly, adjusting her position to just the right angle. The kitchen becomes a symphony of our synchronized breathing, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, and the occasional murmurs of encouragement that punctuate the air. It's raw and primal, a stark contrast to our tentative exploration the night before. Then, it was about discovery; now, it's about possession.

She leans back on her elbows, altering the angle and allowing me to penetrate deeper. The sight before me—her head thrown back in ecstasy, hair cascading down her shoulders, her breasts moving with each thrust. They’re as perfect as her.

"Touch yourself," I command, and she quickly obliges, her fingers dancing urgently over her swollen clit as I thrust deeply into her.

"More," she moans, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm almost there."

I respond by quickening my rhythm, driving into her with relentless force, the counter's edge biting into my skin, but the pain only fuels my desire. Nothing else matters but the intoxicating sensation of her tightening around me, the way herbreath catches in her throat when I hit that perfect, intoxicating angle.

"That's it," I encourage her. "Come for me again, Prue."

She does, her body clenching around me, pulling me deeper. The sight of her coming undone is all it takes to push me over the edge. I thrust into her one last time, burying myself deep as my release hits.

My hands slide up her thighs, pushing the borrowed flannel shirt higher. Everything about her drives me wild—her scent, the way she arches into my touch, that little half-smile that says she’s enjoying herself despite her better judgment. I lift her onto the island counter and smile at her surprised gasp.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice husky.

“Showing my appreciation for your company,” I murmur against her neck, trailing kisses down her throat. “Unless you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” she breathes, fingers threading through my hair.

I unbutton the flannel slowly, revealing her body inch by inch. The morning light filtering through the kitchen window bathes her skin in gold. She’s fucking perfect—all lean muscle and soft curves. I’ve been with women before, but none have gotten under my skin like Prue Griffin.

“You’re staring,” she says, a hint of vulnerability in her voice that she tries to mask with bravado.

“Can’t help it.” I push the shirt off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. “You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flush, and she tugs me closer for a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. I could get lost in her mouth forever, but I have other destinations in mind. I trail kisses down her neck and collarbone, taking my time. She’s impatient, tugging at my hair, trying to direct me where she wants me.

“Slow down,” I whisper against her skin. “We’ve got time.”

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