Page 54 of Welded Defender
A curse falls from his lips as his fingertips trace where lace meets skin. That first brush of contact blurs my vision, my hips arching off the counter.
His mouth captures my breast, hot and demanding. The wet heat of his tongue circles my nipple as he slides a finger inside me with agonizing slowness. The dual sensation steals my breath, pleasure spiralling outward from two points like ripples across still water.
I moan—a sound I barely recognize—and pull my feet up to the counter's cold surface. My thighs tremble as they fall open, surrendering completely. My head falls back against the wooden cabinets with a soft thud, hair catching on the metal handles as stars bloom behind my closed eyelids.
"Is this what you want?" he whispers against my heated skin, shifting his attention to my neglected breast. The wet heat of his mouth closes around my nipple, sending electric currents straight to my core.
I can only whimper in response, my back arching off the cold granite as he slides a second finger inside me. His fingers curl with deliberate precision, finding that textured spot that turns my bones to liquid. My thighs tremble uncontrollably against his hips.
"Fuck, you look so good like this," he groans against my flushed skin, his voice rough with desire. His eyes, dark as forest shadows, drink me in. "Trusting—open. The way your pulse flutters here—" his thumb brushes my throat, "—it's fucking beautiful."
Before I can respond, his knees hit the tile with a soft thud. His warm breath ghosts across my inner thigh for one suspended heartbeat before his mouth claims me. I cry out—a sound that echoes off the kitchen walls—as his tongue replaces his fingers with devastating precision. The flat of it drags slowly upward before circling the sensitive bundle of nerves that blursmy vision at the edges. He groans against me, the vibration almost unbearable, as his hands grip my thighs to pull me closer to the counter's edge. His beard grazes the tender skin of my thighs as he devours me with single-minded intensity, like a man who's crossed a desert and found water.
"Landon—" I gasp, my fingers twisting into his dark hair, knuckles white with desperation as I pull him impossibly closer. "Don't stop."
He responds with a primal growl against my sensitive flesh, his tongue circling my clit with devastating precision. "Let go, Marcy," he murmurs, the vibration of his words sending shockwaves through my core.
I'm dying, dissolving, my body a live wire of sensation. My heels dig into his shoulder blades as my spine arches off the counter. The pressure builds like a storm, my lungs burning as I forget to breathe, my free hand clawing desperately against the slick countertop for purchase in a world spinning off its axis.
I shatter, my cry echoing off kitchen tiles as waves of pleasure pulse from my core to my fingertips. My vision splinters into prisms of light, muscles clenching around his tongue as my thighs tremble against his shoulders.
Landon's tongue slows but doesn't stop, drawing out aftershocks that leave me gasping. When he rises, his lips glisten in the half-light. The taste of salt and musk mingles between us as he claims my mouth, his stubble rough against my flushed skin. His arms slide beneath me—one at my back, one under my knees—and I'm weightless against his chest. Three strides carry us to the bed, where my mattress dips beneath our combined weight, sheets cool against my overheated skin.
The metallic slide of his belt buckle cuts through my ragged breathing. Denim whispers down muscled thighs. My lips part involuntarily as he stands revealed—the pronounced vein running along his length, the bead of moisture at the tip, the wayhe twitches under my gaze. His eyes, nearly black with desire, search mine.
"Yes?" His voice cracks on the single syllable, asking permission.
My fingers find his wrist, tugging him down as my hips arch toward his. "Yes."
His body covers mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress as he positions himself. The blunt pressure against my entrance makes my breath catch. He pushes forward—just an inch—and my fingers dig into his shoulders as the sensation hovers between pleasure and something more complex. His jaw tightens, a vein pulsing in his neck as he fights for control.
"Landon—" My voice breaks on his name, my back arching involuntarily.
His forehead drops to mine, our breath mingling in the narrow space between us. Sweat beads at his temples as he sinks deeper, the stretch of him making my vision blur at the edges.
His lips brush my hairline, his voice a ragged whisper. "Tell me?—"
I lock my ankles behind his back in answer, drawing him impossibly closer. "Don't stop."
A tremor runs through his arms as he withdraws slightly, then rocks forward. The mattress creaks beneath us as he establishes a rhythm that makes my toes curl against his calves.
The bed frame scrapes against hardwood, each rhythmic sound marking the increasing urgency of his movements. My head sinks deeper into the pillow, his name escaping my lips in broken syllables. His breath comes hot and damp against the hollow of my throat, stubble grazing sensitive skin as his fingers find their way between us, circling with deliberate pressure.
My body answers before I can form words, muscles tightening around him in a way that pulls a raw sound from deep in his chest.
"Let me feel it again," he whispers, voice strained against my ear. “Let me feel you let go.”
My fingernails leave crescent moons across his shoulders as the sensation builds like a wave gathering height. The room dissolves into fragments of shadow and light, my consciousness narrowing to where we're joined. A sound I barely recognize as my own echoes off the walls as everything fractures into white-hot pleasure. Landon's rhythm falters, his lips pressing desperately against my pulse point as his movements become erratic. The headboard connects with plaster in a staccato rhythm until he goes rigid above me, a shudder running through him as he buries his face against my neck.
Landon collapses, his breath ragged and warm against my collarbone, and I cling to him, my fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair. I revel in the sheer weight of the moment—I'm still quivering beneath him, aftershocks of ecstasy pulsing through my veins like wildfire. His breath warms my skin, his weight a comforting anchor that makes it feel like the world has righted itself, if only for a moment. The remnants of pleasure linger, a delicious haze that blurs my thoughts as my fingers stroke through his hair, drawing him closer.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending fresh shivers down my spine as he lifts his head to search my eyes. The raw intensity in his gaze sends warmth flooding through me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “This—this was perfect.”
“You’re perfect,” he says, shifting off me and pulling me against him.
His palm drifts up and down my back in slow, absent strokes. No words. No promises. Just the kind of silence that feels like trust. He murmurs my name, barely awake, and presses a drowsy kiss to my hair. The simple, unguarded tenderness of it makes my chest ache.
