Cecilia’s pov
"Yes?" he turned back.
He took two steps toward , his presence grounding and magnetic.
Without thinking, I reached for him, hooked my arm around his neck, and kissed him.
That kiss was supposed to be a fucking distraction.
A quick, hot press of my mouth to shut him up, to stop him from asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
But the second my tongue touched his, the plan went to hell.
He kissed back like he was starving for it.
His hand ca up to cradle the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, holding right where he wanted .
The heat of his mouth, the slick slide of his tongue—it wasn’t gentle.
It was a fucking demand. A groan vibrated deep in his chest, and I felt it everywhere.
My little distraction backfired spectacularly. The hunger in him was a live wire, shocking , pulling under. Before I knew it, my back was hitting the mattress again.
He was still mostly dressed, that crisp fucking dress shirt feeling obscene against my bare skin where my nightgown had ridden up.
The cool tal of his belt buckle dug into my stomach, a sharp, real reminder of how fast this was spiraling.
I got one hand between us, pushing gently at his waist.
"Wait," I breathed against his mouth, the word swallowed by another kiss.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes black in the low light.
"Tell to stop," he said, his voice rough. But his hips pressed down, and I could feel him, hard and thick against my thigh through his slacks.
I didn’t tell him to stop. I arched up against him, a silent, physical answer. That was all the permission he needed.
His hands went to his belt. The sound of the leather sliding free, the clink of the buckle, was loud in the quiet room. He shoved his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself.
I was helping, my own hands clumsy, yanking the silk of my nightgown up over my head and tossing it aside.
There was no more waiting.
He guided himself to my entrance, and I was already so fucking wet for him. The first push of his cock into my pussy was a deep, stretching relief.
A sharp gasp tore out of . He didn’t go slow.
He filled in one long, relentless stroke until he was buried to the hilt, his body pressed flush against mine.
"Fuck," he muttered, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "Every damn ti... you feel like this."
Then he started to move. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate pace from before.
This was deeper, more deliberate. Each slow, dragging pullout made whimper, each powerful thrust back in knocked a sound from my throat.
His dress shirt, still hanging open, brushed against my nipples with every rock of his hips, the contrast of the fine cotton and the rough heat of his skin driving insane.
One of his hands slid under my ass, tilting up, changing the angle.
The next thrust hit a spot so deep and perfect my vision blurred.
"Right there," I begged, my nails scraping down his back, probably marking him through the shirt. "God, don’t stop, right fucking there."
He obeyed, nailing that sa spot with every roll of his hips, the rhythm turning steady and punishing. The bedfra started its familiar, rhythmic protest against the wall. I was close, so close, the pressure coiling tight and electric low in my belly.
His mouth found mine again, swallowing my moans.
I could taste myself on his tongue, a dark, intimate flavor
This made hotter.
My hips bucked up to et his, wanting him deeper, needing that full, stretching ache. One of his hands left my hip and slid between our bodies, his thumb finding my clit with a rough, perfect pressure.
"Fuck, just like that," I gasped against his lips, my own hands scrambling for purchase on his sweat-slick back. He bit down on my lower lip, not hard enough to break skin but enough to make gasp, and that’s when his other hand slid under my ass, lifting up and angling so he could pound into at a whole new, devastating depth. The headboard slamd against the wall in a rhythm that was downright violent.
"You gonna let feel that tight little pussy milk my cock dry?" he growled, his breath hot and ragged in my ear.
His words were the final trigger. The orgasm crashed over , a wave of pure, blinding sensation that clenched my whole body.
My pussy gripped him tight, pulsing around his length.
He kept fucking through it, his rhythm finally breaking into shorter, harder drives, chasing his own finish. "Take it, fucking take it all," he snarled, his control snapping.
With a low, gut-deep groan, he buried himself as deep as he could go and held there, his whole body rigid.
I felt the hot, sudden rush of his release inside , the throbbing pulse of his cock as he emptied himself.
It was a raw, claiming feeling that sent another weak shudder through my oversensitive cunt.
He collapsed on top of , his full weight pressing into the mattress, both of us slick with sweat and breathing like we’d run for miles.
The room slled like sex and salt and him.
We’d done it again. And now the room felt heavy, like everything was sinking in.
The courage I needed finally found its way to the surface, in the heavy quiet after the storm.
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