Page 142 of Seven Lost Summers
Myentirebodywon’tstop trembling. Every nerve is alive, charged, stretched thin from the intense orgasm he just tore out of me with his mouth and those fucking fingers. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet, it was brutal. Fucking relentless. The kind of climax that doesn’t fade quietly but crashes through you, tears you apart, and leaves you gasping for more.
My heart slams against my ribs in a wild and unforgiving rhythm. My thighs are soaked. I’m still twitching, everything inside me pulled tight and still sparking. And he’s kneeling between my legs, shirt clinging to his body, chest heaving. His mouth is slick with me, lips red from the effort it took to ruin me. His jaw clenches when I meet his stare.
Those fucking dark eyes are locked on me, devouring everything I am.
I try to hold his gaze, try to stay with him, but it’s too much. I’m not shaking from what he did to my body. I’m shaking because I want more. This was never just need. It’s something else. Something heavier that’s been waiting years to take shape.
My body screams for him.
My skin begs for more.
There is nothing careful left in me, and this time, I’m not running from it.
“Come here,” I whisper.
He yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it aside without taking his eyes off me. Then he crawls up the bed. The muscles in his arms shift as he cages me in, his body heat wrapping around me before he even touches me. My hands move on instinct, gliding up his chest, feeling the ridges of each flexed muscle. His pulse pounds hard under my fingertips. His breath is shallow, dragging through parted lips as he stares down at me.
I reach for his jeans, unbuttoning them with shaking fingers. The zipper slides down with a sound that’s too loud in the silence between us. His cock is already hard, thick, straining for release. I slide my hand inside. His whole body reacts. A sharp inhale. A broken breath.
“Quinn...” It’s a warning and a plea in one.
I stroke him once, and watch as it takes him apart. His head falls forward, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. His arms tremble where they’re braced above me, forehead dipping until his lips brush mine. Close, but not kissing me yet. Not giving in. Not fully.
“You gonna fuck me now?” I ask. “Or are you gonna stare at me all night and pretend this isn’t happening?”
He smirks. That cocky, smart-ass smirk that has always turned my insides molten. It makes my breath hitch. And in that moment, I already know the answer.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pulling back far enough to meet my eyes. “I don’t have a condom. It’s in the other room.”
I should be the responsible one and tell him to get it. But the way he’s looking at me, chest rising, skin flushed, jaw tight, I’m not going to miss this.
“I’m on birth control,” I whisper. “When was the last time you got tested?”
His brow furrows. A flicker of hesitation touches his features.
“Last month,” he says. “Kit always makes us get tested. Me and Theo…”
He trails off. He doesn’t need to say the rest. I know what it means. They’re the only two who still fuck groupies.
“But I’m clean,” he finishes. “She still makes me get tested even though I’ve never fucked anyone bare before.”
“Ever?” I ask, the word breaking through the quiet.
He nods, still above me. One arm braced beside my head, the other trembling slightly beneath the strain of holding himself up. His cock lies heavy on my stomach, glistening, flushed. His eyes drag across my face, searching, waiting, his jaw tight enough to crack. Every inch of him is wired with control, with restraint, with something he hasn’t said out loud. But I feel it.
He’s waiting for me to say it. To give him permission. To let him have this, have me.
I swallow.
My fingers slide up his chest again, and I give the smallest nod.
That’s all it takes.
He pushes off the bed.
The muscles in his chest flex as he drags his jeans down his legs. He kicks them away, his boxers with them.
He’s standing there.
