Chapter 8 #2
“I want to see you,” I say, close to her ear. “Here. In the light. I want to watch my cock disappear inside you.”
“Oh God, Red.”
I bend her forward just enough for her palms to hit the mattress, one big hand flattening at the small of her back. She gasps—not from pain, but from being positioned exactly how I want her. The pressure is possessive, claiming, and her whole body screams yes.
“You’re sure this is still okay?” I check, thumb stroking tiny circles that make her knees threaten to buckle. My other hand runs up her spine, then back down to grip her hip.
“Yes,” she says, shaky and sure. “Please. Red, I need—”
“I know what you need.” I line myself up, the thick head of my cock pressing against her entrance, teasing. “I’m gonna give it to you. I’m gonna fill you up so good you’ll forget your own name.”
Groaning, I sink in slowly. The way her body takes me—it’s everything.
The stretch, the tightness, the way she fits me like she was made for this.
I’m thick, splitting her open inch by inch, and I can feel every pulse, every flutter of her body adjusting to me.
She pushes back, and I curse under my breath, my hands gripping her hips.
“Easy,” I grind out. “I’m gonna take my time. I want you to feel every inch of me.”
“I do.” She’s panting already. “God, Red, you’re so—”
“Big?” I pull out almost all the way, then thrust back in, deeper this time. “Thick? Stretching this tight little pussy?”
“Yes.” The word comes out broken. “All of it. More.”
I laugh and set a rhythm that makes thought impossible. It’s slow at first, making sure she feels every inch of me. She rocks back into me, greedily meeting every thrust.
“Jesus, Cookie,” I say, voice torn. “You feel—so fucking good. So tight. You’re taking me so well.”
“I know,” she gasps. I give her what she’s asking for without words: more.
Faster. Harder.
The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, the fire’s roar—it’s perfect. She moans without shame, her hand fisting in the blanket, and I grunt my approval.
“That’s it. Let me hear you. I want everyone on this fucking mountain to know you’re mine.”
I wrap an arm low around her middle and pull her upright against my chest, changing the angle.
Her head falls back on my shoulder, and I’m buried so deep I can’t tell where I end and she begins.
My other hand finds her throat—not squeezing, just there, big and warm, a reminder of control I’ll never abuse. She melts into it.
“You like this?” I breathe, my mouth at her ear.
“God, yes.” She’s trembling, desperate. “If you stop now, I'll never forgive you."
I groan and thrust deeper, and everything comes down to this—her body, my need, the rhythm we’ve found. My hand slides up and catches her chin, turning her face enough to take her mouth from the side. The kiss is messy, all teeth and breath. I’m everywhere—inside her, around her, consuming her.
“Mine,” I mutter against her lips, like the word was ripped from somewhere deep. “All fucking mine.”
She trembles in my arms. “Red—”
I drive into her, voice breaking. “Cookie.”
“It’s Sasha,” she breathes out. “My real name. It’s Sasha.”
Something changes in her body. The name that’s been armor for her falls away.
I still for half a heartbeat, everything in me going quiet except for the roaring in my ears. My fingers dig into her hip.
“Just for you,” she whispers. “Only you get to call me that.”
My hand tightens on her hip, possessive and reverent at once. “Sasha.” I taste it, roll it on my tongue like something sacred, like a prayer she’s given me. Then I move again, harder, deeper, determined to claim every part of her. “My Sasha. Fuck, say it again.”
“Sasha.” Her voice breaks on her own name. “I’m yours.”
Her body clenches around me, and I lose it for a second, my rhythm faltering. I recover, my hand sliding down her front, finding her clit again, circling with just the right pressure. That’s it. That’s all she needs.
She comes hard. There’s no warning, just a violent detonation that rips a scream out of her. I hold her through it, cursing into her hair, my thrusts becoming ragged and more desperate.
“Look at me,” I demand, and she does, turning enough to see me. My face is open, raw, every wall I’ve built stripped away. “Fuck, Sasha—I’m gonna—”
“Come,” she whispers, clenching around me deliberately. “I want it. Want to feel you.”
Fuck!
I pulse inside her, hot even through the condom, and it sends another wave of pleasure through her.
My ears ring, and it’s so fucking loud I can’t breathe. Then, there’s the sound of our panting, followed by blissful silence.
I sag against her, my chest to her back, my breath hot at her neck. I don’t crush her; I catch myself and press a kiss to her shoulder like I forgot I’m allowed.
“That was good, right?” I say, my voice blown.
Like my fucking world.
She laughs. “Understatement of the year.”
I ease out, handle the condom, and toss it in the bin. Then I’m turning her, lifting her, laying her on the bed with more care than I’ve given anything in years. She pulls me down with her.
We’re tangled together, breathing hard, our heartbeats synced.
“Do you want some water?” I ask after a minute, already pushing up.
“Don’t move,” she mumbles, dragging me back. “I’m using you as a weighted blanket.”
I huff a laugh. “You’ll overheat.”
“I’m a baker,” she says against my throat. “I thrive in ovens.”
My hand draws idle shapes over her skin, both lazy and possessive. The storm grumbles outside.
“Hey,” she says, tipping her head so she can see my face. “Are you okay?”
I look at her, and the answer surprises me. “Yeah.”
“Me too.”
I study her for half a beat, then tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re a lot,” I say, gazing at her. “I fucking love it. Don’t ever change.”
She swallows hard and nods once. “I won’t.”
We don’t say anything else for a while. I lie there like I’m still figuring out how to do this. She lies there like a woman who just learned what she’s been missing.
At some point I get up for water because old habits die hard. I bring her a glass and make her drink half, then pull the blanket over us and drag her back into my chest.
“Red?” she mumbles, sleep pressing down.
“Mm.”
“You called me yours.”
I’m quiet. Then, in a voice that’s rough around the edges, “Yeah.”
She smiles against my chest. “Okay.”
Outside, the mountain mutters. Inside, Bear sighs and rolls, and the fire settles to a low, steady glow.
She falls asleep with the weight of my arm around her waist.
And I lie there, wide awake, listening to her breaths, thinking about the sound of my name on her lips.
Sasha.
My Sasha.