Page 85 of Brushed and Buried
He leans in, pressing his tongue to the rim, sliding slowly around the edge, circling, flicking, and then dipping deeper. One finger follows, probing and stretching just enough to tease. He alternates tongue and fingers with precision, watching my body react and adjusting each movement to what makes me writhe. Every press of his mouth and every flick of his tongue is calculated. He hums softly, tasting, exploring, and marking me with his wet, insistent attention.
“You’re mine, all of you,” he rasps, sucking and pressing, alternating in a steady, relentless rhythm that makes my body quake.
Vince continues to move with purpose. I am completely exposed, completely his, consumed by the intensity of his mouth and hands, caught in the art of his rimming.
The tent opens to the water, and I catch glimpses of fireworks reflected in Vince’s dark eyes, but my world is nothing but him. He shifts me onto my stomach, and I watch the sky explode while he fucks me from behind, each thrust punishing and urgent, matching the rapid-fire bursts of light outside. Salt, heat, and his breath against my ear blend together, overwhelming and exquisite. I cry out with abandon, letting him hear everything, letting him take full possession of me in body and voice.
Vince hooks one of my legs with his arm, pulling it up and outward until I am fully exposed, every inch of me laid open. I feel him sink impossibly deep, each press of his cock against my prostate sparking fire through my body. Heat floods my veins. My muscles pull tight and tremble as a scream tears from my throat. He drives into me, relentless and unyielding, testing the limits of my endurance.
“Baby,” he breathes against my ear, every word heavy with devotion. “You’re the only one. This is the only place I’ve ever longed for. You feel beyond everything I imagined.”
His words unsteady me. He drives into me harder, each thrust deep and insistent. One hand grips my hip, jerking me back, while the other wraps around my cock. He pumps me in time with his thrusts, hips slamming into me over and over.The friction stokes heat low in my belly, spreading fast, building with every stroke. A rush of release and restraint crashes over me in a single, shuddering climax.
“Oh god, Vince…I’m coming!” I declare, my muscles clenching around him, my body trembling.
“Yes, me too,” he growls hoarsely, hips snapping violently. His cum shoots inside me, warm and heavy.
He keeps moving, still thrusting as we ride the last waves together, until he finally pulls out slowly, still pressing his chest against my back, holding me close. I feel the sticky warmth of him sliding down, our bodies still trembling, slick and spent.
The fireworks outside reach their crescendo, the sky a riot of color, but all I can feel, hear, and sense is him. Vince is claiming me, loving me, letting me finally surrender fully after ten years of waiting.
The finale builds to its peak, the entire sky seeming to explode at once in a cascade of gold, silver, and brilliant white. As the last firework fades and the echoes die away over the water, we breathe hard and cling to each other like survivors of some beautiful disaster.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks, the scent of saltwater and celebration mixing with the musk of sex and satisfaction.
“Love you,” I murmur.
Vince’s breath catches, soft and wondering. “Love you most.”
He turns me to face him, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest, and I can feel his smile against my shoulder.
“We should probably get back,” I say, though I make no move to disengage from his arms.
“Probably.” He presses a kiss to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on my skin. “But not yet.”
“They’ll notice we’re gone.”
“Good.” The possessive note in his voice makes me shiver. “Let them know exactly what we are up to, who you belong to.”
The simple ownership in his words sends warmth spiraling through my chest.
“Is that what I am?” I ask, tilting my head to look at him. “Yours?”
“If you’ll have me.” The vulnerability that creeps into his voice makes my chest ache. “If you’ll let me prove I’m worth it.”
I study his face in the soft light. He looks younger somehow, the careful mask he’s worn for years finally stripped away to reveal something raw and hopeful underneath.
We clean up and dress slowly, helping each other with buttons and ties, smoothing each other’s hair back into something presentable. He picks up the boutonnière from the ground, straightens its petals, and pins it to my lapel again. The gesture feels almost ceremonial, like he’s giving me back to myself, and to him.
“Ready?” he asks, offering me his arm like a proper gentleman.
I take it, and let him escort me back toward the sounds of celebration and the warm glow of the reception tent.
The dangerous pull of believing this could actually work follows me back to the party, settling in my chest like a seed waiting for the right conditions to bloom. The fireworks have ended, but their echo lingers in the way Vince’s hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me through the darkness.
30
Adrian
