Chapter 17
Camryn
T he first hint of sunlight seeped through the edges of the blackout curtains, and my stomach clenched. Each tick of the bedside clock felt like a hammer blow. Six hours left. Five hours and fifty-nine minutes. Every second dragging us closer to goodbye. Eight weeks stretched ahead of us, and all I could do was lie here, memorizing the weight of his body against mine.
As much as I wanted him to stay, I also didn’t want to hold him back from his dreams, and this had been his dream for as long as I could remember.
Trystan’s arms tightened around me, pulling my naked back flush against his front. My body fit perfectly into the curve of his, like I was meant to be there. His face nuzzled into my neck as he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin.
His lips brushed against my shoulder, voice rough with something that wasn't just desire. "I'm not ready for morning yet." His arms tightened around me, each finger pressing into my skin like he was trying to leave an imprint I could hold onto when he was gone. He buried his face deeper into my neck. "I'm not ready to leave yet."
I kept my eyes shut tight, afraid the darkness would shatter if I opened them, afraid morning would win. "I'm not ready either." The words came out barely louder than a breath.
His hand splayed across my stomach, anchoring me to now, to him, to us. "I wish we could stay like this forever." The words felt dangerous, too honest, but I couldn't stop them.
I arched my back as he trailed kisses over my neck and shoulder, pressing my ass hard into his cock.
"You keep doing that..." His words fell hot against my ear as his hand curved around my hip, fingers pressing just hard enough to make me shiver. The threat—or maybe promise—in his voice made heat pool low in my belly. "And I won't be able to stop myself from fucking you again." The 'again' lingered between us, heavy with memories of the night before, making my skin prickle with want.
It just so happened that was exactly what I wanted, so I pushed back harder, wiggling my hips until he grunted out something under his breath.
His lips traced my neck like he was mapping territory he'd have to remember for weeks to come. Each kiss grew hungrier than the last, teeth grazing sensitive skin until a whimper escaped me.
When his hand slid between my thighs, it wasn't with urgency but with torturous patience, his fingers tracing patterns that made my breath catch and my body arch toward his touch.
I rocked my hips forward into his hand and then back, sliding his cock between my ass cheeks.
His fingers traced patterns along my skin, touch feather-light and teasing. "Are you sore, baby?" The vibration of his words against my neck sent shivers down my spine. He lifted his head, eyes searching my face. "I don't want to hurt you."
My body trembled under his touch, hips pressing back against him. "Don't you dare stop." His fingers traced lazy circles, barely touching where I needed him most, until my breath came in desperate gasps.
His teeth grazed my earlobe, hot breath fanning against my skin. "You're so fucking wet for me." His hand stilled, waiting. "Tell me what you want, baby?"
I arched into his touch, fingers clutching the sheets. "I want you to fuck me." His fingers circled my clit, drawing a gasp from my lips. "I need to feel you inside me."
The first graze of his teeth against my shoulder sent electricity down my spine. He knew exactly how to touch me—the precise pressure that made my thoughts scatter, the rhythm that left me gasping. His arm underneath me tightened, holding me against him as I writhed. Each movement pressed me back against his hardness as he added the perfect amount of pressure to my clit.
My body fucking burned for him. To feel him deep inside of me.
He shifted, the movement deliberate and controlled, while his fingers maintained their maddening rhythm. I could feel him positioning himself, the anticipation making my breath catch. The heat of him pressed against me, promising but not delivering, teasing at my entrance until I was trembling. When he finally pushed just the tip inside, the sensation was so intense I couldn't help but rock back, desperate to take him deeper.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned against my skin. "This pussy fits my cock like a glove." He pressed his lips to my shoulder, soothing the sting of his bite. He slid in a little deeper. "This pussy belongs to me." His words rumbled through his chest into my back, possession and tenderness mixed in equal measure. Each slow circle of his fingers emphasized his claim, drawing out pleasure.
"It's yours," I moaned, the words carrying more weight than just passion. "I'm yours." Eight weeks suddenly felt like an eternity.
"And I'm yours," he whispered, but there was an edge of desperation in his voice that matched the grip of his fingers on my hip.
As he rocked into me, slow and deep, I wondered if he was trying to leave part of himself behind, something I could hold onto during the endless nights ahead. Each thrust felt like a promise neither of us was sure we could keep.
I gasped as my fingers curled into the sheets in front of me as he pushed deeper and deeper.
All of his muscles flexed. His cock pulsating inside me as he stilled. His labored breathing filled the quiet room. His palm spread wide across my stomach, steadying me. "Are you okay?"
I rocked my hips back against him, seeking more contact, more friction, more everything. "Yes." The word came out breathless, needy. My fingers found his wrist, squeezing. "Please, don't stop."
He withdrew slowly, the torturous pace making my breath catch. Then his hips snapped forward, harder this time, faster, filling me completely.
My head pressed back into him, spine arching. "Trystan." His name fell from my lips like a prayer. My fingers twisted in the sheets, searching for an anchor. "More, please."
His fingers found their rhythm against my clit, matching each slow thrust of his hips. My body caught fire everywhere he touched, pleasure building with each deliberate stroke.
The tension coiled tighter and tighter until my thighs began to shake. "Oh my god." My body clenched around him as the orgasm crashed through me, every nerve ending sparking to life.
Trystan's teeth scraped against my earlobe, his chest pressed tight against my back. "Fuck." His rhythm faltered for just a moment. "I love hearing you come just as much as I love making you come."
He removed his hand, shifting his weight and rolling me to my stomach, his legs squeezing mine together.
His cock swelled inside me, and my pussy squeezed him, begging him for more, sucking him deeper inside me.
Shifting his weight, he pressed me deeper into the mattress. "I'm going to fuck you now, baby, fast and hard." My insides twisted with anticipation, fingers curling into the sheets until my knuckles went white. His breath came hot against my neck. "If you want me to stop, I will."
I pushed back against him, desperate for more contact. "Don't stop."
His grip tightened on my hips—the only warning before he snapped forward in one brutal stroke. The cry that escaped my lips wasn't quiet. Our bodies moved together, slick with sweat, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room mixed with our ragged breathing.
His hands fisted in the sheets beside my head, caging me beneath him. The power in his movements made me feel deliciously helpless, caught between his body and the mattress.
His heavy breathing in my ear sent a wave of heat spreading through me as each thrust became more desperate, frantic, like he was trying to outrun the sunrise.
I buried my face in the sheets to muffle my moans as his hip ground into my ass.
His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just hard enough to arch my neck back. The movement exposed my throat to his lips, and he took full advantage, teeth grazing the sensitive skin below my ear. "Don't do that." His hips snapped forward, driving deep enough to make my toes curl. His next words came out dark and hungry against my skin. "I want to hear every sound that comes out of that pretty mouth while I'm fucking you."
My thighs trembled, squeezing tighter together as the pressure built. "Trystan, I'm going to come."
His thrusts grew wild, desperate. "Come with me, baby." His fingers dug into my hip hard enough to leave marks—marks I secretly hoped would stay.
Our bodies vibrated together as the pleasure crested. His growl of my name mixed with my cries, the sound echoing off the walls. The intensity of it left us both shaking.
Trystan's head dropped against my shoulder, his chest heaving against my back. "Holy fuck." His breath came in ragged gasps. He rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. "I really don't want to leave today."
I traced my fingers along his chest, following the rapid rise and fall. "It's only eight weeks, and I'll be waiting for you when you get back."
The mattress dipped as he turned to face me. His fingers found my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "You promise?"
I leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss against his palm. "I promise." The words felt heavy with everything we weren't saying.
The truth crowded my throat, bitter as coffee grounds: I didn't want him to leave. Not just today—any day. Ever. In a few hours, he'd drive away toward his dream, toward a world filled with new faces, new opportunities, new groupies, new everything. And I'd be here, counting days on a calendar, trying to convince myself that this could stretch across eight weeks without breaking.
My fingers found the indent his teeth had left on my shoulder, pressing until it hurt. At least this mark would last a little while. In this moment, wrapped in sheets that still held our heat, I had to believe we'd make it because the alternative was heartbreaking.