Page 137 of Bitten & Burned
“Then I’ll go slow,” he said, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I’ll stay right here, and I’ll make it feel so good you won’t care if it breaks you.”
And then he moved.
Not fast. Not punishing.
Steady.
He rocked into me like a tide creeping steadily up the beach—rising, crashing, retreating just enough to build tension, then pressing deeper again. Every stroke had weight. Every single one made me feel him. Not just inside me, but around me, like my whole body was built to take him.
“You take me so well,” he murmured, forehead pressed to mine. “So tight around me. I can feel you clench every time I pull out… like you can’t bear to have me gone for even a second.”
I whimpered.
“You like that?” he asked. “Being stretched like this?”
I nodded, too far gone for words. My nails scraped down his back, dragging moans from both of us.
He adjusted slightly, angling his hips until?—
“Oh fuck?—”
I saw stars. Actual stars.
“There it is,” he breathed, jaw tight, muscles trembling from the restraint it took not to wreck me. “That spot that makes you forget your own name.”
He kept hitting it, again and again, each thrust more certain than the last. I was climbing towards something wild and massive—something I couldn’t contain.
And he knew. Gods, he knew. He chased it with me, breath ragged, eyes fixed on mine as though he wanted to see me come undone.
“Come for me,” he growled. “Show me what it looks like when you fall apart with me.”
The bond thrummed like a struck chord, vibrating through every nerve as I broke apart beneath him.
I shattered.
Everything inside me tightened, then unraveled in one sharp, blinding wave. I cried out his name—broken, breathless—my body pulsing around him so tightly he groaned through his teeth.
He dropped to his forearms, buried his face against my throat, and thrust once, twice, then came with a low, guttural sound that felt like it was ripped from his core.
We stayed there, bodies trembling, pressed flush in the aftershock.
His weight on top of me was grounding—not too much. Just right. Even the ache in my thigh quieted beneath him, as if the sigil itself had no fight left in it. It was the weight of someone who wasn’t going to vanish the moment things got messy.
I exhaled beneath him, chest rising into his, skin slick with sweat and pleasure and something so much heavier.
His breath warmed the crook of my neck as he slowly shifted, easing out of me with care. He didn’t go far. Just onto his side, sohe could gather me against him like I was something precious and tuck my head beneath his chin.
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t need to.
He stroked a hand along my back in slow, even lines. Not possessive. Not expectant. Just present.
“If you knew what you meant to me,” he whispered, “you’d never call yourself temporary again.”
I closed my eyes.
Not temporary.
