Page 37 of Sawyer
“And you’re my shield,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his smile.
I guide him down onto the pillows as the moonlight strokes the angles of his face. Our mouths meet again—slow, then faster, matching the gallop of our heartbeats. His hands roam with aching care, as if memorizing sacred art. I let the gown fall completely, baring silk and skin, and his breath hitches—a sound of wonder that steals mine.
We tumble sideways, laughter catching on our mouths, kisses turning greedy and then soft, urgent and tender in the same breath. The sheets caress my shoulder blades; his chest is heat and cedar, the steady drum of his heart against mine. When his fingertips skim the curve of my thigh, a shiver sparks low and bright—I arch into his touch, shameless, silently asking for more.
He pauses, searching my face like he’s reading a map he already knows by heart. I hold his gaze and let yes flood every inch of me—chin tipped up, breath trembling, hand guiding his wristhigher. Consent isn’t a word; it’s a pulse thudding in my throat, in the press of my palm over his.
The last sliver of restraint slips. “I need you with every cell of my body,” he rasps, voice rough velvet.
“I feel exactly the same,” I whisper, and it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.
His mouth crooks into a sinful smirk as his fingers find fabric and peel it away. Mine are just as greedy—buttons, buckles, the warm give of his skin under my hands. Clothes scatter with little gasps and clinks, and suddenly there is only heat and the delicious shock of bare everywhere. We pause—just five reverent seconds—stretched out, drinking each other in like a masterpiece revealed.
God. He is carved from light and shadow—clean lines, the slope of his shoulders, the tight plane of his abdomen, those strong thighs braced like promise. He’s a study in sculpted symmetry and barely leashed hunger, and the longer I stare the harder it is to remember how to breathe. My mouth actually parts. My fingers trace down the path my eyes took, slow and worshipful, and he shudders under the touch, that wicked smile softening at the edges as if my awe is undoing him.
“Come here, Cam,” he murmurs.
I crawl over him, straddling his hips, palms splayed on that perfect chest, and lower myself over his thick hardness. My voice is a sigh against his lips. “Tell me when to stop.”
“Never,” he says, and I swallow the word with a kiss, tasting promise and heat as I roll my hips—showing him exactly how ready I am, how completely I want him. The room blurs; the world tilts to just us; and the only rhythm I know is the pant ofhis breath and the way he melts when I touch him like he’s the only work of art I’ll ever want to make.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper to him, running my nails over the broad muscles of his chest, my body riding him up and down, over and over again.
“That’s it, Cam,fuck…”
The rough, low gravel of his voice—need braided into every syllable—lights me up; heat surges through me and my hips quicken on instinct, rocking harder to match the hunger he breathes into the dim room.
He grips my hips, moving north toward my breasts as he pitches forward, his mouth covering my nipple. He repositions us, to where I’m flat on my back, him on top of me. He enters me in one quick thrust, both of us stilling once he’s all the way inside.
“Fuck, Cam… you feel sofuckinggood.” His need is thick in his voice.
I gaze into his gray eyes, the color mesmerizing me. “Please don’t ever stop.”
He smoothes a hand over my hair, his eyes locking onto mine as he thrusts his hips forward. “Never.”
Heat unfurls under my sternum, spreading outward in slow, pulsing waves at the way he holds me—hands firm at my hips, touch sure and reverent, like he’s staking a claim he intends to keep. His breath ghosts my ear, our rhythm syncing until the room blurs and all I feel is the steady insistence of us. It’s intoxicating, this sense that he’s nowhere else and never will be, that we’re suspended in a pocket of time made just for two. I don’t want the moment to thin or spill; I want to stretch it wide,memorize every breath and shiver, and live right here where his touch saysstay. I would press a pin in this second and keep it forever.
He keeps moving inside me, slow and unhurried at first, and then his tempo picks up. He presses his forehead against mine, and our breaths become mingled together as things escalate.
“Take all of me. I’m yours,” he whispers into my mouth and I spread my legs even farther, letting him slip deeper inside me. “Are you on the pill?”
I smirk. “Kind of late for the birth control talk, isn’t it?”
He growls. “Cam, tell me.”
I gaze into his eyes, memorizing him. “Yes, I’m on the pill.” My body builds closer to that pivotal moment. Toward the release we’re both chasing. “I’m so close.” I grip onto him tighter.
He bucks away on top of me, his body solid and …perfect. “Come all over me, Cam. I’ve got you.” And I believe him.
This man has had me since day one. Since I first laid eyes on him. He’s had me. Hook, line, and sinker.
“Don’t ever let go,” I tell him, my body so dang close. “Sawyer,” I say his name like a prayer as my body detonates. “Ah, Sawyer,” I shout and his grip on me tightens.
“Give it to me, Cam. I've got you.”
I don’t stop. My body doesn’t slow down as a tsunami of emotions slam into my chest all at once. “Sawyer,” now his name comes out as a curse. “Fuck me,” I whisper as my body starts the downward slope.
He takes my words as an invitation to let loose. He bucks and fucks. He thrusts into me harder than before. He uses me as he seeks out his own release. And I enjoy every second of it. “You’refuckinggorgeous,” he says between pumps of his dick. “Sofuckingpretty.”
