Page 179 of Wild Then Wed
He lets out a dark laugh against my neck. “Yeah? Tell me what else you love.”
“I love how you feel inside me,” I admit, the words spilling out between breaths. “Love your hands on me. Love—”
His next thrust steals the rest, my moan drowning in the steam, in the slick, desperate sounds of us. His hand slides upmy body, his fingers rough as they close over my breast, rolling and pinching my nipple just hard enough to make my back arch even more. “Goddamn,” he curses against my neck, his hips never slowing. “Are you gonna come again for me, Peach?”
I whimper, nodding, because yes,yes,I was already teetering on the edge—and it was insane how easily he could drag me there. I’d never come more than once in a night unless I was alone with my vibrator, but this? This was something else entirely. “Close,” I gasp, and the second the word leaves my mouth, I feel it—the way my body clenches around him, my muscles fluttering like they’re trying to pull him in deeper and keep him there forever.
He groans just before his fingers twist around my nipple and he thrusts—hard—burying himself completely inside of me. It’s too much. Too deep.Too fucking good.
“Oh—god,” I gasp, my hands flying back to grab onto his thigh, anchoring myself there to keep from lurching too far forward. My forehead presses to the tile, steam clinging to my skin. I’m falling apart, and he knows it.
“Not God,” he pants, his voice gritty. One hand slides down to my hip, gripping tight—possessive. “Say my name when you come.”
“Sawyer—” It shudders out of me, barely a whisper. He drives in deeper, his hips grinding hard, angled just right, and I see stars. Literal stars. My legs start to tremble.
“You’re so deep,” I manage, breathless and wrecked.
That’s all it takes.
Pleasure breaks open inside me like a dam, all heat and pressure and wild, splintering need. My body clamps down around him, pulsing, and I cry out his name again, my voice lost to the sound of water and everything else falling away.
He moans, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, hips stuttering as he follows me under. “Wren,” he breathes, like a prayer. Or maybe a promise.
I’m still trembling when the aftershocks hit, my breath coming in shaky bursts. It’s stupid, how good it is—how goodheis. I’ve had sex before, but never like this. Never with someone who could ruin me so thoroughly and still make me crave more.
His thrusts get sharper—rougher now—and I gasp, loud and involuntary, as each one steals the air from my lungs. But I don’t stop him. I can’t. I press back into him instead, meeting every stroke, grinding to take him even deeper. His groan splits the air between us, wrecked and raw.
“Fuck, yes. Just like that,” he grits out, and I do it again, even slower this time, dragging my hips against his like I have something to prove. The stretch is deep, almost too much—but the burn is so good I could cry.
“Look at you,” he breathes against my neck, his voice fraying. “Taking me like you were made for me, Peach.”
The words hit somewhere low and dangerous. I let out a sound—half gasp, half whimper—and he curses again. His pace falters. I can feel it, the way his body starts to lose control, his rhythm becomes more erratic. His hands grip tighter at my hips, anchoring us both, and then—
He slams into me one last time, deep and hard, and stays there.
I feel it—first the pulse, then the warmth, spilling into me in heavy waves. He buries his face in my neck as he exhales a strangled moan, his hips twitching, his body shuddering behind me. Every breath he takes sounds like it’s being dragged out of him.
I can feel him leaking out of me, dripping down my thighs. God, I forgot how messy sex is. How good. How honest.
My legs are still shaking, my breath uneven, and he hasn’t even pulled out yet. His hands are planted on either side of my hips like he needs them there to stay grounded, his chest rising and falling against my spine.
He presses a soft kiss to the back of my neck, and I feel him smile against my skin.
“You have no idea how sexy you look like this. With my come between your legs.”
I let out something between a laugh and a gasp, because there’s nothing graceful about the way I’m standing right now—my knees weak, hair soaked, looking absolutely wrecked.
His hand slides up my back, slow now, almost reverent. “Are you okay?”
I nod, even though everything below my waist is questionable at best.
When he finally eases out of me, I have to catch my breath. The heat of him is still there—sticky, warm, unmistakably his—and I blink hard, trying to stay upright.
He turns me gently toward him, his hands sure and careful, and before I can even pretend to play it cool, his arms are already around my waist.
Which is good. Because my knees? Utterly useless at the moment.
I look up at him, dazed and probably flushed all the way to my ears, and he just holds me there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
