Page 62 of Twisted Violet
He sits back just long enough to drag my shorts down my legs, tossing them somewhere into the truck bed. I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, but he bats my hands away with a smirk and undoes it himself, watching me the whole time.
His cock springs free. Thick, hard, and flushed at the tip.
He slips a condom on, and my core aches, like it already knows what’s coming.
But before I can move, he’s already lowering himself over me again, lining himself up with practiced ease.
And then.
He slides inside.
The stretch is brutal. Too much and perfect all at once.
I dig my nails into his back, mouth falling open as he fills me slowly, giving me every inch.
He groans, deep and guttural, as my walls clench around him, and reaches for my hand.
“Fuck,” he hisses, pinning my hand above my head as our fingers intertwine. “You feel like heaven.”
He starts to move. Slow, deep strokes that make my wholebody tremble.
I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper, harder.
Every thrust sends sparks ricocheting up my spine. The cool night air drifts over my overheated skin and the stars blur behind him, turning him into a shadow moving only for me.
Niko doesn’t let go of my hand.
Even as he fucks me harder, even as I cry out beneath him, begging for more, he keeps our fingers locked.
Tethered. Grounded.
His other hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit and rubbing tight, relentless circles that send me spiraling.
I clench around him, gasping as my orgasm hits.
It tears through me like wildfire.
Searing, sweet, and all-consuming.
I cry out his name, back arching, legs trembling.
Niko growls low in his throat, driving into me one last time before he spills inside with a stuttered groan, and collapses against me.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We just lay there with our bodies pressed together and our hearts beating in sync.
The wind picks up, brushing cool air across our overheated skin.
I shift beneath him, and Niko grunts softly, lifting himself just enough to grab the blanket and tug it over us.
His body is still pressed against mine, but it’s not the sex that has my heart warming.
It’s the way he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t rush to fix his clothes or build his walls back up.
He just rests his forehead against mine and peppers kisses all over my face.
We lie like that for a while, hearts slowing, skin slick and tangled.
“That tattoo made me feel like I didn’t own my body anymore.” I murmur. “Thank you. For everything.”
