Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Novalee
God, he’s good.
Too good. He could’ve been a musician instead of a mentalist, and the world would’ve been better for it. And yet, I’m selfishly glad he’s here, in this room, singing only for me.
When the song ends, the final notes linger in the air like a promise, and I raise my gaze to meet Koen’s, finding his expression soft and unguarded. The way he looks at me makes my stomach tighten like he sees something I don’t.
But what’s new?
“You’re amazing,” I manage to press out once the music fades, the tension left between us only growing stronger in its absence.
He sets the guitar down carefully beside him without breaking my gaze. Then he stands from his chair, rests his knee on the bed in front of me, and cups my cheek, pulling a small gasp from me. His thumb traces a slow path along my skin like he’s memorizing me or afraid I could slip away one day.
Which is accurate. That thought, paired with the intimacy of the moment, makes my throat close up, and it suddenly feels hard to draw breath. I don’t know what to do with tenderness like this.
The space between us is charged with possibility as his thumb once more brushes against my skin in that perfect way that makes me melt.
“You’re really good,” I whisper, speaking that truth again with a small smile curving my lips because I know he already knows.
His lips twitch, his touch remains impossibly gentle, and my heart stutters, sensing the danger. His care might unravel me faster than any roughness ever could. But I don’t balk as he continues to watch me like he’s trying to drink in every part of me or memorize every second of this moment between us.
And I gladly let him.
No walls. No hesitation. Just this. Us.
“Do you know my favorite thing about human physiology?”
“What?” I reach up to cover his hand with mine.
“How our eyes change when we look at someone we’re in love with,” he answers softly as his gaze roams over my face, tracing my features. “Our pupils dilate, like they do in the dark, trying to let in more light.”
Love. The word hovers between us, but it doesn’t send me into a panic. Instead, it settles over me like something inevitable, something true.
His gaze travels slowly up my face, then, like a soft stroke, our eyes lock. His pupils expand. I watch in fascination, my lips parting at the silent confession that’s written in the way he looks at me.
I hold my breath, frozen in the moment as my mind races.
Did my eyes do the same? Can he tell what I’m feeling?
Of course, he can. He always has.
His thumb trails a path to my bottom lip, lingering there, and the faintest shiver races up my spine, unfreezing my body. He clocks the change, something like approval in his gaze as he smiles softly at me.
One more ghost swipe of his thumb across my lips unlocks my body entirely, and I lift onto my knees and try to surge toward him, but he slows me gently with his hands on my face before I can get close enough for our lips to touch.
“And we blink less,” he murmurs. “Just to make the moment last longer…”
I swear time slows as his fingers curl against my jaw and tilt my face up just before he brushes his lips against mine in a tentative caress that feels like a question.
Yes . My mind, body, and soul agree. The only answer is yes. Yes, to all of it.
My hands slide to his shoulders, gripping him tightly. It must be answer enough because he slides one hand into my hair and deepens the kiss, his fingers threading through the strands and binding me to him.
He takes his time kissing me, savoring every second, every response my body displays. My fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he obliges this time, his free hand finding my waist. He tastes like coffee and something sweeter, something that’s entirely him, and I think I could drown in it, in him.
So, I let myself drown.
I let myself sink.
When he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are still closed as he holds me to him, his hand still tangled in my hair.
“I meant it,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful. And crazy. Smart, skilled, sassy, and funny.” His eyes open and intently bore into mine. “And I’m a fucking fool for you.”
We hold each other’s gazes for several long moments, my heart aching with emotion as I toy with a piece of his hair. “You should’ve been a musician,” I murmur, still hearing his song. “Not a mentalist. You’re too good.”
His lips quirk into a soft smile, and his hand slips from my waist to rest on my knee. “I like what I do. But if it makes you look at me like that, maybe I’ll consider a career change.”
I laugh again, but it’s quieter this time, more breathless. My gaze drops to where his hand rests on my knee, its simple intimacy making my heart feel like it might burst.
I am so gone for him.
Koen is everything I never thought I’d crave, and yet, here he is, holding me like I’m something precious, and I’m letting him.
“I think I’m in trouble,” I whisper.
“Good,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to my forehead. “Because I’m already there with you.”
His lips wander to graze the tender spot beneath my ear, then trail down my neck. The heat of his breath sends a slow shiver through me, but it’s not nerves—it’s anticipation. Need. Want. Every place he touches feels like it belongs to him already.
I shiver involuntarily, my shoulders tilting toward him, desperate for more.
He plants a kiss right over the racing pulse at my throat. “You’re precious.”
“I’m not,” I breathe, the protest weak as it leaves my lips, more habit than belief.
Koen freezes. “Are you questioning my judgment now?”
“What? N-no. Why would I—” I stammer.
“Because you’re ignoring what I tell you and repeating the bullshit someone else fed you instead.” His tone isn’t angry, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something protective, fierce. He doesn’t just want me. He wants me to see myself the way he does.
He pulls back to fully look at me, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of Sylus’s shirt. His knuckles brush the bare skin of my stomach, and heat pools low in my belly.
“Have I not told you how smart you are, how skilled, how sassy and funny…” His fingers inch higher, dragging the shirt with them. His voice is softer now, but the conviction in it is unshakable. “Have I somehow failed at making you understand how utterly precious you are to me?”
It’s not just a compliment. It’s a demand. A plea. A truth he won’t let me ignore. The words punch through my defenses, exposing something raw and making me swallow hard. “Koen, honestly, I’m a foster girl who made it to a pickpocketing stripper. I’m not—”
His hands glide up my ribs, his thumbs tracing the curve of my waist as he lifts the shirt over my head, cutting me off. It slips away, pooling beside us and leaving me bare from the waist up. My skin pebbles with goose bumps, but it has nothing to do with the air and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me.
“It doesn’t matter who fed you those lies. What matters is that you believe them.”
One of his hands cups my face again, his thumb sweeping gently over my cheekbone, but the other trails lower. His fingers ghost below the bandage on my arm, brushing the uninjured skin. He gave me some painkillers before dinner so it’s not hurting right now, but the softness of his touch feels like an apology, even though he doesn’t say it. I want to tell him it’s not his fault, and I don’t regret a damn thing that’s led me here to him. But I know Koen. He won’t believe me.
“I’m fine.” I lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, lingering there as if I can press the words into his skin.
He pulls back and searches my eyes, measuring the truth of my words.
“I hate that you were hurt.” His fingers slightly tighten on my waist, not possessively, just steadily, like he needs the physical connection, to feel that I’m not lying, and I’m really fine. He slowly lifts his other hand to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “Hate that I wasn’t there. Hate that I can’t go back and fix it.”
I exhale softly, reaching up to cover his hand with mine. “I don’t need you to fix it. I just need you to be here.”
His lips slightly part like he’s going to say something, but then he stops. Instead, he exhales through his nose, like he’s letting something go, and presses his forehead to mine. His breath is warm against my lips, and for a second, we just exist in the space between us.
Then, just as softly, he tilts up my chin and kisses me.
And like before, it’s not a desperate kiss, not rushed or hungry. It’s deep and slow and weighted with something heavier than lust that settles into my bones.
“Little Thief…” He quietly sighs as he pulls away and meets my eyes. Then he does something I don’t expect—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing quirk of his lips. A real, soft, barely-there smile, like he just made peace with something inside himself.
His thumb traces a slow path along my jaw, then down my throat, watching me like he’s cataloging every tiny reaction I have to his touch and marveling at the fact that I’m letting him have this. Letting him have me.
And then, he surprises me again by asking, “Ever heard of the stoplight system?”
I blink. “What?”
His touch travels downward, his thumb blazing a path over my collarbone as he explains. “When we’re intimate with each other, I want to know how you’re feeling. I tend to rely too hard on your bodily cues since it’s what I do.” His thumb continues its path down. “But maybe your body is on board with things your mind isn’t. So I’m going to check in with you periodically and ask for your color.”
When his thumb draws achingly close to my nipple, he changes his touch and trails his fingertips down my bare arms. The touch is light, almost teasing, but his voice is serious, threaded with care. Consideration.
“Green means you’re enjoying things. Yellow means you’re okay but starting to get a little nervous. And red means stop, full out.” His voice dips lower, almost a growl. “If you ever say red, we stop immediately and figure out what went wrong, how we can redirect. Got it?”
I swallow thickly. No one’s ever asked me that before. No one’s ever cared enough to make sure I had an out. “Okay.” I nod, my mind spinning.
I’ve never had a guy this intense in the bedroom. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? This isn’t just sex. It’s not just the physical. This is Koen. And Koen is always intense. Always all in.
His hands slide up to my shoulders, and his thumbs draw reassuring circles on my skin. “I can’t press enough how important it is that you’re not lying to me when I ask for your color. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you feel uncomfortable.”
“Fuck, Koen. How fucking kinky are you?”
His lips twitch, the tension breaking for just a second. But there’s something heated in his eyes, too, something dark and possessive.
“I’m really not.” His hands skim down my sides, pausing above the waistband of Sylus’s sweatpants. “I just like to have control. You know that.”
I do. And I love it.
His fingers slip into the pants and lower them with deliberate slowness, every inch leaving me more exposed.
“And like I said,” he continues. “I tend to read your body before you even register what you’re feeling. I don’t want to unintentionally strip you of your choices.”
It’s not just about control for him. It’s about making sure I want this. That I choose this and him.
And I do.
He tugs the sweatpants down over my hips, and I lift slightly, helping him. The movement feels natural, like something we’ve done a hundred times before, even though this is the first. Even though this is new, I already know it’s something I’ll crave again. Him. His hands on me. His eyes drinking me in like I’m something worth savoring.
The pants slide down my thighs and land on the floor, leaving me in Sylus’s boxers, nothing else between me and the weight of Koen’s stare.
Koen exhales a slow, measured breath, his pupils dark and consuming as he takes me in. Not just my body—me. I feel it in the way he looks at me like he’s peeling back the layers of who I am, stripping me down with more than just his hands.
“Just because I know you want something doesn’t mean you want to go through with it.” He grasps my chin, tilting my face up to his. His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and I part for him instinctively, my breath catching in my throat. “Stoplight, precious. Can you do that for me?”
I’ve had men want me before, but I’ve never had one want me like this. Like my pleasure, my consent, my trust is something sacred.
My throat feels dry. “I think so.”
He tilts his head as he regards me. “Not good enough.”
I take a shaky breath, my hands clenching in the sheets beneath me. Koen waits, giving me space to choose, to be sure. His restraint is another form of dominance, a deeper kind of control—the kind that makes my heart hammer because it’s not just about power. It’s about trust.
“Yes.” I steady myself. For him, for me, for this. “I’ll tell you to stop when I want you to stop.”
His lips curl into a smile that feels like a reward, a gift only for me, before he brushes his mouth over mine. “Precious girl.”
Koen’s fingers curl into the waistband of the boxers, his gaze burning into me as he peels the fabric down my legs. Cool air kisses my skin, and I shiver, every nerve alight and waiting. The boxers join the rest of my clothes on the floor, and Koen uses a firm grip on my hips to pull me to the edge of the bed slowly.
Then he sinks to his knees in front of me.
A breath shudders out of me because—fuck.
Koen Lane is on his knees.
For me.
His hands slide up my thighs, spreading me open with the same reverence they held when he looked into my eyes. Like he’s worshiping both my body and who I am inside with his touch. My pulse is beating in my clit, thrumming out a frantic rhythm of need.
He lowers his head, his mouth brushing along the skin of my inner thigh before he places a slow, open-mouthed kiss, then another, the scrape of his teeth making my muscles tighten.
“Now repeat after me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the valley of my hip. “Nothing is wrong with me.”
I draw a shaky breath through my nose. The words feel foreign as I form them, but the need to feel his mouth where I want it overpowers my hesitation.
“Nothing is wrong with me.”
He hums in approval, his tongue flicking out to taste my skin. “Just like that, precious. So damn perfect.”
The praise melts through me, a wave of warmth that settles in my core as I tilt my hips toward him in desperation, seeking his touch.
His lips trail lower, his tongue tracing patterns that leave my skin tingling. He sucks at the flesh of my inner thigh until a bruise blooms beneath his mouth. The sharp pull of his suction makes me gasp, my thighs twitching as pleasure ripples through me.
“Say ‘I’m worthy.’”
My heart skips a beat at his command. I want to obey, but the words lodge in my throat as my mind races.
Worthy of what? Of him? Of this? Of something that feels dangerously close to love?
My mind rebels, whispering old doubts, old wounds. “I…” My words falter, and he nips my skin in either warning or encouragement, or both, so I press out, “I’m worthy of some things, I guess?” It’s more a question than a statement.
His teeth close around the flesh of my thigh, and the bite is sharp enough to make me yelp and send a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting straight to my core, making my pussy clench and ache for more.
But then Koen’s mouth leaves my thigh, the imprint of his teeth burning hot, a sting that fades into a dull, delicious ache.
Mine. The thought is sudden, unbidden, but it sinks in deep. He’s marking me as his, but I want to mark him too. So I reach down and dig my nails in his forearm. He hisses, but it only stokes the fire in his eyes.
He pushes up my thigh, pressing it toward my stomach, opening me wider. His tongue follows the path of his hands, tracing a wet, heated line from the tender bite mark all the way up to my knee. He moves torturously slowly, every nerve in my body strung tight with every sensation.
“Didn’t you understand the instructions?”
“I’m not dense, Koen.” I glare at him, frustration swirling with desire. “You don’t need to train me like one of your mentalism subjects.”
His low chuckle rumbles against my skin. “No, precious. You’re too sharp for that. But you still don’t see what I do.”
His fingers slide along my slit, a feather-light touch that makes me gasp and arch toward him. “I’m worthy,” he repeats, his tone commanding. “Say it.”
I shake my head. “You said I shouldn’t lie.”
Koen exhales sharply, looking almost pained. Like my refusal to believe this hurts him more than anything else could.
He growls softly, letting go of my thigh, his fingers tracing my slit, spreading the wetness but deliberately avoiding where I need him most. It’s maddening, a slow torment that makes my body hum with desperation.
“That’s not a lie. You are fucking worthy.” His fingers continue to tease, skirting the edges of my clit but never touching it, never giving me the relief I crave. My hips roll toward him once more, but he holds me firm. “You think your body is your weapon. Your strength. Your worth.” His tongue flicks out, tasting the crease where my thigh meets my hip. “Maybe you think it’s the only thing you’re worth.”
My heart pounds so hard it echoes in my ears, drowning out everything but him, and I can’t breathe.
“But even if it’s… glorious,” he continues, his fingers slick with my wetness as he slides them back and forth, slow and languid. “You’re so much more.”
“And still, I’m not worthy of you,” I choke out, my body trembling with frustration and longing.
“Oh, you’re very fucking much worthy of me.” Koen’s eyes flash, his jaw tense. “Of them. Of all of us.” He almost growls. “And you know why?”
“Why?” The word escapes me on a breathless moan.
“Because I fucking said so.” His fingers press harder against me, circling the edge of my entrance. “I’m the one in charge. My opinion is the only one that matters. And I say you’re utterly fucking worthy. Understood?”
His conviction cracks something inside me. The sheer force of his belief in me is overwhelming, devastating, and healing.
Worthy.
The word hits a wall inside me, but he keeps chipping away at it, his belief louder than the echo of my insecurities.
If Koen Lane says it, who am I to deny it?
I think of how they’ve treated me—not only Koen, but all of them, how they look at me like I’m more than a stripper, a thief. Like I’m someone to be trusted. Someone who belongs. Something more than the broken pieces I’ve been holding together for years.
“Understood.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m worthy,” I breathe out, the admission sliding past my lips like a secret I’ve kept from myself. But it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. Like something I should have always known.
“Yes, you fucking are.” His voice is thick with pride and something else I can’t name but feel in the way he looks at me.
He presses a kiss just above my clit, his lips lingering, not just teasing but reverent, like he’s worshiping the words just as much as he’s worshiping me.
Like he’s claiming them as truth.
“That’s my girl.”
Two fingers slide into me, the stretch slow, designed to make me feel every inch of him. He spits on my clit before his mouth finally descends, his tongue flicking out to tease it in tandem with his thrusting fingers. But as suddenly as he started, he stops, his mouth leaving me. My body clenches around the emptiness as he withdraws his fingers, the wet pad of one tracing a slow circle on the inside of my thigh.
My hips lift toward him once more, a silent plea he ignores. I whimper, frustration bubbling up, tangled with need.
“Please, Koen,” I whisper, not just because I need him but because I know he needs this too. Needs to hear me beg for him, needs to know I want this as much as he does. “I was good,” I press, my voice barely more than a breath. “I said it.”
“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb stroking a slow line up my thigh, barely skimming where I need him most. “We’re not done yet. Tell me how smart and capable you are.”
My head swims, a fog thickening around my thoughts. I can’t think, can barely speak. My body is a taut wire, straining, desperate for his mouth to finally give me the relief I need. But I know he won’t move until I give him what he’s asking for.
I try to focus. Try to find words.
“I’m smart,” I parrot, the word tumbling out clumsily as if my brain is no longer connected to my mouth.
So much for being smart.
His lips curve against my skin, and I swear I feel it everywhere. Then his tongue flicks upward, a tease along my slit, and my hips jerk involuntarily as my fingers fly to his hair, gripping the silky strands.
“And what, precious?” His voice is a low vibration against my core. “Finish your sentence.”
I shudder. “Smart and capable.”
“That’s right,” he purrs, his praise molten, dripping over me, seeping into every crack of my soul.
Then, finally—finally—he leans in and licks me for real, his tongue dragging up my slit. The sensation is blinding, a bolt of pleasure that splinters my thoughts into fragments, and a ragged moan rips from my chest.
He groans against me, the vibration sending another wave of heat coiling through me, and I swear I feel him smirk against my skin again—like he knew exactly what this would do to me. Like he loves wrecking me.
“That’s it,” he murmurs between licks as his tongue swirls around my clit, teasing, then retreats to glide through my slit, collecting every bit of my wetness. “So fucking good for me.”
My legs tremble as he laps at me, his mouth alternating between gentle flicks and deep, luxurious strokes that leave me gasping. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, anchoring me to the earth as I feel myself floating.
“You taste so sweet.” He sucks my clit, the pressure sending sparks through my limbs as my fingers tighten in his hair.
“F-fuck, Koen.” A strangled sound slips from me, broken and needy, and fuck, he loves it because he hums against me, the vibration sending another jolt of heat spiraling through me.
“You’re everything, Novalee.” He speaks it like a vow, like something etched into his very being. “Smart. Capable. Precious.” Each word is punctuated by a flick of his tongue, a glide, a pull.
The tension coils tighter, so tight I feel like I might break apart entirely.
“Let go,” he whispers against me, his breath a rush of heat. A command. A promise. A plea. “You’re safe. You’re worthy. Let me give you this.”
His fingers slide inside me again, curling just right, his mouth working my clit in tandem. The coil snaps, pleasure detonating through me in waves so intense I forget how to breathe.
I don’t even realize I’m moaning his name until I hear it, hear the way it tumbles from my lips like a prayer.
He guides me through it, his fingers easing me down until I’m nothing but a trembling mess beneath him. My chest heaves, and I’m glowing with sweat.
His mouth leaves a kiss against my thigh, right over the bruise he left.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my skin as he kisses his way up my body. Something in my chest clenches—sharp and terrifying and so fucking real. “And you’re worthy of every fucking thing I have to give. Do you believe me?”
This time, I don’t hesitate. “I do.”
I need him. I need this.
“Please, Koen.”
His nose brushes against mine, his lips hovering just out of reach, teasing me. But I don’t just want the tease—I want everything.
“What do you need from me? Use your words, precious.”
God, he’s insufferable. Infuriating.
And I want him so fucking bad.
“I need you to fuck me.”
A growl rumbles from his chest, his restraint splintering at the edges.
His fingers fly to his shirt as he stands, stripping it off in one fluid motion. The lines of his chest and abdomen flex as he shoves down his jeans and briefs, kicking them aside.
Fuck.
He’s hard, his cock jutting up between us, flushed and thick, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip.
The sight of him bare before me makes me feel empty. Needy. Like I won’t be whole until he’s inside me.
When I look up, his eyes pin me in place, but his touch is a whisper of control. His hand glides into my hair, his fingers threading through the strands, a gentle but possessive hold that makes my scalp tingle.
“Look at you.” His grip tightens just enough to tilt my head back, exposing my throat and making me feel vulnerable and owned. “Fucking perfect.”
His mouth crashes onto mine, claiming me in a kiss that’s all heat and desperation. His lips are demanding, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I taste myself on him—salt, sweetness, and the tang of desire.
So fucking hot.
A moan escapes me, my body melting under the intoxicating blend of his dominance and my own need. He groans into my mouth, deepening the kiss, his teeth grazing my lower lip, tugging just enough that a sweet kind of pain blooms.
I gasp against him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, into the warmth of his skin, like I need to hold onto something solid before I lose myself completely.
He pulls back, and my lungs drag in air as if I’ve been drowning in him, like he’s the only thing keeping me alive. Without a word, his hands move to my waist, gripping me firmly. The way he handles me isn’t rough, but it’s commanding, guiding me. He knows exactly where and how he wants me, as though I was made to fit beneath his hands.
In one smooth motion, he lifts me and guides me farther up the bed. It’s effortless. Like I weigh nothing to him. My back sinks into the plush mattress, the sheets cool against my overheated skin as he positions me.
A perfect contradiction. His movements are heavy with control, yet his touch is soft with something I can feel settling between my ribs. His thighs press against mine as he spreads me open, his gaze drinking me in, devouring me like I really am the most precious thing he’s ever held.
I should be nervous. But I’m not. Not with him.
“Do you want me to use a condom?”
The question should feel clinical, but from Koen, it doesn’t. He’s asking because he cares. Because he won’t take a single inch of me without making sure I want to give it.
“Sylus and I got tested. We’re both clean. And… I tied my tubes.”
“Of course you two did.” His lips twitch, the faintest smile breaking through the heat in his eyes before something more serious settles in.
“I haven’t been with anyone in years. Do you trust me?”
“I do.” The answer comes out without hesitation. Without doubt.
His expression softens, but his hunger doesn’t waver. If anything, it deepens like my answer flipped a switch inside him.
The bed dips under his weight as he crawls over me, his body a cage of warmth and solid muscle. His face hovers just inches above mine as his eyes lock onto me as if he can see right through to my soul. “You’re mine, precious,” he whispers, every syllable dripping with conviction. Not a question. Not a demand. A truth. A vow. “And I’m going to remind you exactly how worthy you are.”
The air shifts, the space between us vanishing as he kisses me again.
But this time, it’s not just heat.
It’s devotion.
It’s falling, fast and headfirst, into something I don’t want to run from anymore.
And I don’t want to escape.
Not from him.
Not from this.
But instead of pressing into me, instead of giving me what I know we both want, he grips my hips and—
In one swift motion, he rolls us over.
I gasp into his mouth as I land on top of him, my thighs straddling his waist, his cock pressing between us, hot and heavy and so fucking hard.
I know what he’s doing. He’s letting me take control. Letting me decide. Letting me own this moment as much as he does.
But it’s still his game.
And I’m more than happy to play.
“Fuck, Novalee,” he groans out, his head tipping back, his hands sliding over my thighs like he’s barely resisting the urge to grip harder. To pin me down instead.
His control is slipping. And I want to be the one to break it.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about when you pleaded for me to fuck you. How I had to hold on to a thread not to push up into you.” He thrusts up, his cock gliding along my wetness, teasing me. The friction is enough to send a shockwave through my body. Enough to have me chasing it. “I need you like that,” he breathes out, his voice rough with restraint. “I need you desperate for me.”
“I am,” I gasp, rocking my hips forward, dragging my pussy along his length, shuddering at the pressure of it against my clit.
It’s barely anything, barely enough, and yet—
I swear I might come from just this.
His hands slide up to grip my hips tighter. “Beg.”
It’s a sharp, demanding command.
And God, I love it.
I should tease him. Push back. But I’m already too far gone.
“Please,” I whimper.
“More words, precious,” he growls out. Low, wrecked. Like he needs to hear it just as much as I need to say it.
“I need you,” I breathe out, my hands sliding over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips. “I need to feel you inside me. I need you to fuck me exactly how you want to fuck me.” My lips brush against his, my breath mingling with his as I whisper, “Show me that I’m yours.”
A low, feral sound escapes him. His fingers dig into my waist, his hold so firm that it steals the breath from my lungs. “I will.” Then, with a wicked smirk, he adds, “But first, you’re going to ride me.”
Yes, please.
I lift myself so that he can bring the head of his cock to my entrance, and every nerve ending in my body strains toward him. I sink down slowly, the thick head of his cock stretching me inch by inch. My breath stutters, my body clenching around him as I take him deeper.
“That’s it.” His voice is pure sin, his eyes locked on mine, dark and heavy-lidded. “Eyes on me while you take my cock.”
I press down farther, my walls stretching, accommodating his girth. A whimper slips from me as I finally settle, his cock buried deep inside me, the stretch exquisite, the fullness stealing my breath.
I feel him everywhere.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he rasps, his fingers digging into my skin. “So tight. So perfect.”
I shift my hips, a ripple of pleasure rolling through me. His hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing over my nipples, sending sparks straight to my core. I roll my hips again, this time harder, and a groan breaks from his throat.
“Color?” he demands, his gaze searching mine.
I know what he’s really asking.
And I don’t just want this.
I fucking need it.
A slow smile curls my lips, a promise, a dare, a challenge. “Fucking green.”
He growls in approval, his hands gripping my hips as I start to move again. I rise, feeling every inch of him drag against my walls, stretching me, teasing me, leaving me empty for just a heartbeat. Then I slam back down, taking him all at once, the force of it stealing my breath.
A choked moan tears from my throat, my head falling back.
Fuck. Fuck.
His cock hits so deep, the friction so perfect, that pleasure arcs through me like lightning, my body tightening, burning, desperate for more.
“Yes.” Koen’s hands slide up my waist, savoring the way I take him. “Fuck, just like that.”
I set a rhythm, riding him hard and fast, the slap of our bodies filling the room. The sound is filthy, hypnotic.
My thighs burn, the muscles shaking, but the pleasure drowns out everything else, driving me, keeping me locked in the motion, in the push and pull of us. The way he looks at me—like I’m something holy, something he’d worship for eternity—makes me want to give him more. I’ve never felt like this. Never felt wanted like this—like I belong in someone’s hands, in someone’s bed, like I’m meant to be fucked this way.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he pants out, his voice coming apart at the seams. His fingers tighten, his grip a brand on my skin. “Fucking yourself on my cock. Taking everything I give you.”
The praise fuels my fire, igniting something reckless and wild inside me. So, I ride him harder, chasing the edge, chasing the fall, wanting to drag him with me, to pull him under until there’s nothing left but us.
My clit grinds against his pelvis. Each thrust sends me spiraling higher, tighter.
So close.
“Stop.”
I obey, freezing mid-grind.
Koen’s head falls back against the pillow, his jaw clenched so tightly I can see the muscle twitch. A ragged groan rips from his throat, his fingers flexing against my hips like he’s fighting every instinct in his body not to flip me over and fuck me senseless.
“I’m too close,” he grits out.
My chest heaves as I delight in his struggle, the way his entire body is straining with need, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across my lips.
I love wrecking him.
I love knowing I can.
“It’s fine.” I drag my nails down his chest, then farther, watching his abs tense beneath my touch. I drop my mouth to his, barely brushing my lips against his when I whisper, “I want you to fill me up.”
The sound that rips from his throat is pure tortured bliss.
But then he locks eyes with me and smirks. “Soon. But someone told me she wants to sit on my face.” His hands clamp down on my waist as he shifts me, pulling me off his dick. He positions me above his face, his breath hot against my inner thighs. “Come here,” he growls out, his hands guiding me down, his voice pure fucking sin.
His tongue flicks out, teasing me, and his grip tightens on my thighs, holding me exactly where he wants me.
I gasp, my hands flying to the headboard for balance as he devours me.
Not gentle. Not teasing. Not patient.
Fucking hungry.
His tongue moves with precision, each flick and swirl sending shockwaves through my body, my nerves sparking like a live wire. Koen groans against me, the vibrations sinking into my core, making my thighs tremble.
“F-fuck,” I breathe out, my hips moving on their own, rolling against his face, chasing more, and he urges me on, his fingers pressing into my skin, encouraging me to use him.
To take what I need.
To ride him the way he needs me to.
Something snaps inside me, and I lose myself completely. In the sensation, in the heat, in the wet drag of his tongue, in the way he eats me like he’s starving.
My head falls back, a strangled cry escaping my lips as I chase my release. The pleasure rushes over me like a storm, my body shaking, shattering as I scream his name.
His hands hold me steady, his tongue slowing but never stopping, tasting every tremor, lapping up every single aftershock until I’m whimpering, oversensitive, gasping for breath.
Finally, when I’m nothing but wreckage in his hands, he lowers me, his strong arms wrapping around me, positioning me back over him. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes, his lips slick, his pupils blown so wide there’s barely any amber left.
Holy shit.
“Koen—”
His grip on my hips tightens, and he drags me down onto his cock, impaling me completely. I gasp, the sudden, perfect stretch stealing my breath, making my thighs tremble as I take all of him, my body molding around him like I was made for this.
For him.
His cock pulses inside me, stretching me wide and filling me so fucking deep there’s no space left inside me that isn’t filled by him. My nails bite into his shoulders, desperate, needing to hold onto something solid because he’s unraveling me from the inside out.
Koen’s eyes bore into mine, his gaze dark like he’s watching every inch of me struggle to take him and fucking loving it. He thrusts hard, dragging a sharp moan from me.
Then his hand is at my throat.
My breath catches, my body going still as he applies just enough pressure to make me gasp again.
“Color?”
I grip the wrist of the hand he’s holding me with and feel how he’s ready to let go if I say so, but I quickly rasp, “Green.”
“Good girl.” His grip tightens slightly, just enough to make my pulse spike, sending a sharp bolt of awareness through me. His other thumb presses against my clit, rubbing slow, tight circles, dragging me right back to the edge.
I whimper, my body instantly reacting, nerve endings sparking like live wires, even if I feel more than spent.
“Now, I’m going to give you my cum.” The pressure of his hand on my throat sends heat crashing through me. “I want it dripping out of you,” he grits out, thrusting harder, deeper, hitting that spot inside me that makes me fall apart and lose myself completely.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything except take it.
And God, does he give it to me.
I moan helplessly, holding onto his wrist while pleasure lashes through me in hot waves as he drives into me, owning me with every thrust. Then his grip tightens just enough that I see stars.
A shock of heat explodes in my belly, my muscles locking up. I’m nothing but sensation. Nothing but want. Nothing but him.
“That’s it.” His thumb never falters on my clit, his other hand keeping me still above him. “Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”
I shake my head, words slipping away, my body already too sensitive, already past the edge.
“I can’t, Koen, I already came.”
Twice.
I’m spent. I can’t take any more. I can’t—
“You can.” His grip on my throat tightens for half a second, just enough to make me fully register that he’s still in control. “Color?”
“Green.”
“Then do what you’re told, precious.”
His voice.
The steady pressure.
The unrelenting rhythm of his cock driving into me. It’s too much. My body locks up, every muscle tightening, my world narrowing to the only thing that matters right now.
Him.
A cry rips from my throat as I shatter around him, this orgasm different from the others, messier, wilder, untethered.
Just pure, blinding release.
My walls clamp down, clenching around his cock, milking him, pulling him under with me. His hips snap up one last time, a ragged groan breaking from his chest as he gives in, his body bowing beneath me.
Koen curses as his cock pulses, branding me with everything he has to give.
My body trembles through the aftershocks while my pulse is erratic, my limbs boneless. His thumb slows but doesn’t stop, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until I’m shuddering, oversensitive, and wrecked.
His grip on my throat disappears, moving to smooth over the skin he just held, gently rubbing, soothing, like he’s making sure I’m okay.
A whimper slips from my lips, not just from the pleasure but from the overwhelming, inescapable feeling of being his. I blink down at him, my body still reeling, my brain still catching up.
The way he’s watching me, waiting. Not with regret. Not with hesitation. Just… waiting.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Color?”
I instantly know my answer, so I force my tired lips to move, to let him hear the truth of what he really wants to know.
That I’m still here. I’m safe. And I still want him.
“Green.”
His jaw relaxes just before I collapse against him, my forehead resting against his, our sweat-slicked skin sticking together.
His arms wrap around me immediately, securing me, locking me in. Like he needs me close. His breath is warm against my temple when he murmurs, “Mine.”
“Yours.” I exhale, not fighting it, not questioning it.
He tightens his hold on me. “And you’re worthy of every fucking thing I give you.”
Not just my body. Not just my pleasure.
All of it.
I let his words wash over me, let them settle into the places I’ve kept hidden, the cracks I’ve tried to ignore.
Yeah.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I’m worthy of him.
And maybe I want to be.