Chapter 18 #6
I set a pace that had nothing gentle in it. My hands were on his hips hard enough to leave the shape of them tomorrow. His back was arched, head dropping forward, both hands gripping the headboard with white knuckles that mirrored mine from earlier.
“Rook.” His voice was completely destroyed. “Don't stop. Don't you dare—”
“I'm not stopping.” I thrust deeper and felt him clench around me and the sound I made was not controlled. “You take me so well. Fuck.” I ran one hand up his spine and felt him shiver. “You have no idea — you feel—”
“Tell me.” Breathless, demanding, pressed into the pillow. “Tell me.”
“Tight.” I drove in again. “Hot. Mine.” The last word came out harder than I'd meant it to, more raw, and I felt him shudder full-body at the word. “You're mine, Soren. You've always been mine.”
I reached around and got my hand on him and stroked, and the combination of that and the pace I was keeping reduced him to sounds and motion and nothing else, his hips moving back to meet me on every thrust and forward into my fist in between, caught between the two in a rhythm that was pulling sounds from both of us with no filter left between feeling and expressing it.
“Rook—” My name, cracked open.
“I've got you.” I pressed my chest to his back, mouth to the nape of his neck, hand still working him. “I've got you. Let go.”
He turned his face into the pillow and said, muffled and wrecked and entirely certain, “Inside me. Rook. I want you to come inside me.”
The words hit me somewhere below thinking and above coherence and I drove in deep and stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed to the back of his neck, breathing hard through my nose.
“You sure—”
“Please.” His hand came back and gripped my hip, pulling. “Please. Want to feel you. Want you to fill me up.”
I moved.
I buried myself in him with a rhythm that had nothing managed about it, hand still wrapped around him and stroking hard, and the sounds coming from both of us had abandoned any pretense of control.
He pushed back to meet every thrust, taking all of it, and the slick heat of him and the desperate sounds he was making into the pillow were dragging me toward the edge faster than I could manage.
“Soren—”
“Don't stop.” Raw and demanding. “Don't you dare stop.”
I didn't stop.
I felt myself pulse inside him, felt him clench tight around me like he was trying to hold all of it, and the sound he made in response was soft and broken and unbearably satisfied.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Fuck— yes—”
I kept my hand moving on him through it, working him through the clench and shudder of his own building edge, and he spilled into my fist thirty seconds later with a low, sustained moan that vibrated against my chest.
I stayed inside him. Kept my hand wrapped around him. Let both of us come back to the room in our own time.
Then he reached back and found my wrist.
Lifted my hand.
Brought it to his mouth.
He took my fingers in and licked them clean.
I stayed there afterward without moving. His chest was heaving. My face was pressed into the side of his neck and I could feel his heartbeat gradually slowing against my lips.
He pressed his lips to my temple. Stayed there.
Neither of us said anything for a while.
Then he shifted enough to look at me, and his eyes were warm and a little serious and very close.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” My voice was wrecked.
“You okay?”
I thought about it honestly. “I don't know what I am. But yeah. I'm okay.”
He nodded, like that was a sufficient answer. Like he understood exactly what I meant and wasn't going to push me to parse it further.
I rolled onto my back and he settled beside me, one arm thrown across my waist, and I stared at the ceiling and tried to take stock. The city was still dark outside. The room was warm and quiet. My body felt like it had been taken apart at the seams and put back in a slightly different order.
I was going to need to think about this.
Not right now. Right now what I needed was exactly what I had — this room, this man, the weight of his arm across my waist telling me I was here and this had happened and it was real.
“For someone who's never been with a guy before,” Soren said eventually, and his voice had gone dry around the edges in the way it did when he was covering real feeling with comedy, “you picked things up concerningly fast.”
“I've always been a quick learner.”
“You were just lying there in a state of religious experience five minutes ago.”
“And now I'm fine.”
He lifted his head and looked at me with an expression of elaborate disbelief. I kept my face neutral. He dropped his head back down onto the pillow.
“You're unbelievable,” he said, but there was warmth under it that gave him away.
I put my hand over his where it rested on my waist. He turned his palm up and I held it.
Outside, the city stayed dark and cold and entirely indifferent to what was happening on the seventh floor of a hotel in Montreal. Inside, the room was quiet in a way that felt like it was holding its breath.