Page 126 of Faking It Right
My heart responded by apparently trying to escape my body through my throat. “I do.”
Something shifted between us at those words, a deepening of the transcended physical act. The third orgasm built differently than the others. It was less a sprint and more of a slow, unstoppable climb. Every thrust added to the mounting pressure, creating a feedback loop of pleasure that seemed to have no ceiling. My body trembled with the effort of containing it all, sweat slicking my skin.
I moaned his name as a plea and a prayer. “I’m not going to survive.”
“You will, because I’m taking good care of you. Look at how well you’re doing.”
The praise threw more fuel on the fire building inside me. I’d never been particularly affected by compliments during sex before, but hearing them from Harley, knowing he meant them, made flowers bloom in my heart.
The pressure continued to build, coiling tighter with each precise thrust. My fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving marks Iknew would still be there tomorrow, the physical evidence of the moment that felt too intense to be real.
My body trembled as I teetered on the verge of something monumental.
Harley’s movements grew more erratic as his own control slipped. “I want to see you come apart for me again.”
The permission was all I needed. The dam broke, making the first orgasm seem like a ripple in comparison. It was transcendent, consuming every cell in my body with ecstasy so intense it bordered on spiritual.
All my nerve endings alighted with boundless pleasure. My vision whited out, my consciousness narrowing to nothing but the overwhelming sensations and Harley’s presence anchoring me through the storm.
Chapter Twenty-Two
HARLEY
I watchedin awe as Ryker’s body tensed beneath me, his back arching off the bed as he came for the third time. His eyes squeezed shut, his mouth falling open in a silent scream before a broken moan tore from his throat. His cock pulsed between us, spilling more cum onto his stomach in spurts.
“Fuck, Harley—” Ryker’s voice cracked as his body surrendered to sensations that made coherent thought an endangered species.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.
I’d had plenty of sex before. Good sex, great sex even. But nothing had prepared me for finally having Ryker beneath me, around me, his body gripping mine as if he never wanted to let go. After years of wanting him, years of casual flirting that masked genuine feelings, years of imagining what it would be like to have him this way, the reality was threatening to break me apart.
His body clenched around me, aftershocks of his orgasm rippling through him, and I almost lost it right then. I stilled my hips, fighting for any scrap of control.
“Don’t stop,” he urged, his voice wrecked. “Please don’t stop, Harley.”
How could I deny him anything when he whispered my name as a prayer?
I started moving again, every nerve ending in my body singing with pleasure like a choir of orgasms.
Ryker’s hands clutched at my shoulders, his fingertips pressing into my skin hard enough to leave marks. I hoped they would, because I wanted physical evidence of this moment, proof that it wasn’t another fantasy. His gaze possessed a vulnerability I rarely saw from him.
The truth smacked me upside the head when he reached up to touch my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip with surprising tenderness. The small, gentle gesture was my undoing.
We weren’t simply having sex. It wasn’t satisfying my lust or desire or culminating years of wanting. It was about love. I was making love with my best friend. The thought staggered me, making my rhythm falter for a moment before I found it again.
Ryker’s voice pulled me back. “Harley?”
I shook my head, unable to articulate my emotions yet. Instead, I leaned down to kiss him, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the press of my lips against his.
Beneath me, Ryker trembled, his body still sensitive from his multiple orgasms. Yet he moved with me, his hips rising to meet each of my thrusts. “Don’t hold back. I want to see you come.”
Even spent and oversensitive, he was thinking about my pleasure, still wanting to give me what I needed. His words shattered what little control I had left. My thrusts became faster, harder, more desperate. The careful pace I’d maintained dissolved into a desperate, frantic pace that was only about getting closer faster.
Every fantasy I’d ever had paled in comparison to the reality of being with him. My imagination never could have captured the way his eyes darkened when I hit just the right spot. No dream could have replicated the feeling of his fingers digging into my skin, urging me deeper. His gaze held mine, and the hunger there was familiar. But beneath it was something new and breathtaking that made me feel I was home.
My hips jerked as I emptied into the condom, my entire body shuddering with the force of my orgasm. Ecstasy radiated outward from where we were joined, spreading through my limbs until even my fingertips tingled with it.
The orgasm left me physically spent, but it was the silence that followed that did it for me. The years of hiding, of casual flirting that felt like a lie, of wanting so much more, was all gone, replaced by the simple, heavy weight of his arms embracing me. In its place was a vulnerability so profound it felt like I’d been turned inside out.
