Chapter Twelve #4
When he reaches the edge of my panties, he looks up. Eyes blazing. “Let me make it right. Let me taste you. Let me worship the woman who carried our baby even when I couldn’t be there.”
My legs fall open wider on instinct. “Yes.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Hooking the fabric aside, he parts me gently with his fingers, then seals his mouth over me like reclaiming territory he lost a decade ago.
Hungry. Relentless. He circles his tongue over my bundle of nerves in slow, firm strokes while his hands clamp on my hips, holding me exactly where he wants me.
I writhe under the instant, overwhelming pleasure and, at the same time, spread myself wider—too much, too good, too soon.
He growls against me, the vibration ripping a whimper from my throat, and tightens his grip.
No escape. No mercy. Just his mouth devouring me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that could ever satisfy him.
“I love how you taste,” he murmurs between licks, voice muffled against my slick heat. “Love the sounds you make when I do this—” He sucks my clit hard into his mouth.
I bow my back off the bed from the immediate contact, the relentless pressure. Something between a moan and a scream tears from my throat. My fingers twist in his wet hair, pulling him closer even as my thighs shake around his head.
He explores every inch, lapping deep, then shallow, tracing every fold like he’s memorizing me again. No part of me escapes his mouth. Pleasure coils tighter, hotter, until I’m right on the edge, hips grinding seamlessly against his face.
Then he pulls back.
“Not yet.”
“Please—” The word sobs out of me. “Scott, please, I need—”
“I know what you need, little one.” He slides two thick fingers inside me, curling just right against that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. He pumps slowly, watching my face. “You need to come, don’t you? Need me to let you fall apart on my tongue?”
I nod frantically, tears slipping free again—not from pain this time, but from how badly I want this. Want him. “Yes. God, yes. Please.”
“Such pretty begging.” He lowers his head again, lips closing over my clit, and this time he doesn’t stop. Fingers thrust in rhythm with his sucking, tongue relentless.
The orgasm hits like a freight train. My whole body locks, thighs clamping around his head as I shatter with a scream—hard, blinding, vision whiting out for a second.
I scream his name, hips grinding against his face while he works me through every pulsing aftershock, drawing it out until I’m boneless and trembling.
When I finally come back to myself, he’s kissing his way up my body—slow, worshipping trails over my hip, my waist. He pauses at my stomach, lips brushing skin, voice rough. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. For all of it.”
He sheds his shorts in one motion. Then he settles between my legs, hard length nudging my entrance—hot, thick, already seeping at the crest. I grind against him on pure instinct, chasing that friction, trying to bury him inside, and we both groan.
This doesn’t fix anything.
It doesn’t erase ten years. Doesn’t rebuild the trust he shattered when he walked away.
My heart is still bruised black-and-blue, and one mind-blowing orgasm isn’t going to change that.
But right now, with his body heat surrounding me and the rain still hammering the windows, I don’t want to think about tomorrow’s unpredictability.
I just want this.
He leans down. “I’m right here. Right now. Let me have you.”
The kiss that follows is messy, hungry, angry—tongues clashing as he swallows the sob caught in my throat. My nails rake down his back, marking him, needing him closer even if it’s only for tonight.
He nudges my entrance farther. My whole body trembles. Not just from desire, but from fear, hope, and everything I’ve buried for a decade.
“Please, Scott.”
He pushes in—slow, so slow, stretching me with a delicious burn that blurs pain and pleasure until they’re one aching pulse.
My breath catches, a broken sound, as he fills me inch by agonizing inch.
He’s overwhelming, or maybe I’m just too raw after years of emptiness that never quite echoed like this.
My nails dig deeper into his back, anchoring me as sensation and emotion twist together in my chest.
When he’s buried to the hilt, he stills, forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged against my lips. Beads of sweat form at his temple. “I’ve missed you,” he rasps. “You feel like coming home.”
He kisses my lips as he withdraws almost completely, before driving back in one thrust. We both gasp, sharp and shared.
The rhythm builds, relentless. Each thrust is harder, deeper. I wrap him in my legs.
“You take me so perfectly, little one,” he growls, voice fraying. “Every inch, like you were waiting for me all this time.”
His words spark heat low in my belly; I clench hard around him, and he groans deep in his throat. “You like that? Like being my good girl?”
“Yes,” I cry out, the praise unraveling me further. Only need remains when it comes to him.
His hand slips between us, fingers finding that swollen bundle of nerves and circling with agonizing slowness. “Then come for me again. Let me feel you shatter.”
Him stroking me deep, his relentless thumb at my core, pushes me further at the edge until a wave of overwhelming pleasure crashes through me in blinding waves. I cry out, body pulsing around him. I clamp hard as I fall over into the fiery pleasure.
He murmurs praise against my ear. “That’s it…just like that… Give it all to me.”
I tremble through the aftershocks. He doesn’t stop.
With careful strength, he hooks my legs higher around his waist, lifting my hips to meet his.
One hand cups my rear end as he sinks even deeper.
Our faces are inches apart with his eyes never leaving mine—dark, desperate, pleading.
The new position drags him against every sensitive place, especially hitting my clit, until stars burst behind my closed lids.
“Mine,” he growls low, hips snapping with controlled ferocity. Our breaths mingle. Sweat-slick skin slides together as he thrusts in and out of me. “Say it.”
His lips brush mine. Heat and need start building in my core again as I tilt my head back. He presses his lips to my exposed throat and collarbone.
I gasp. “Yours. I’m yours.”
He thrusts harder, like he’s pouring every unspoken apology into my body. Our hands find each other. Fingers lacing tight above my head as he uses the leverage to rock deeper, slower, grinding in circles that make my toes curl.
I pull my head back toward him. “Harder,” I beg into his mouth, voice raw. “Please, Scott—I need—”
“Fuck—” His control fractures. His rhythm turns erratic, desperate. Plunging deep, he buries his face in my neck as he pulses hot inside me. He fills me in long, shuddering waves that drag another soft climax from my depths.
We collapse together on the bed, tangled in each other, shaking, our breaths mingling in harsh pants. He stays seated deep, softening slowly, but neither of us moves. My legs stay wrapped around him.
For long moments, we just exist there, chests rising and falling in sync, his head resting against my shoulder, the storm outside a distant rumble compared to the thunder still echoing in my veins.
I can feel the faint aftershocks rippling through us both, small flutters where we’re joined, his warmth seeping deeper even as he softens.
My fingers trace lazy patterns across his back, soothing, memorizing the map of scars and muscles I’ve missed for so long.
He exhales shakily against my lips. Then shifting his hips, he rocks into me. Enough to stir the sensitive places inside me that haven’t quite come down yet. The parts of me that want more. I let out a soft gasp, and my inner walls flutter around him in response.
“With pleasure, little one,” he whispers, voice rough and tender at once. He eases into lazy, shallow strokes that keep the afterglow humming between us. Slow glides that coax rather than demand, building heat gradually instead of chasing it.
This time is slower, softer, intimate in a way that tightens my chest. My heart lurches. We stare into each other’s eyes, breaths shared, bodies fused like they’ve remembered every curve. His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a stray tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
When release finds us again, it’s quiet, profound. This moment together, gazes locked, feels like a promise. A fragile brush of souls amid the storm, as though finally breathing after years underwater.
We lie entwined afterward through the night. His arms a warm cage around me, lips brushing my forehead, my temple, the corner of my mouth.
At one point in the night, he buries himself inside me again. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”
For now.
A part of me wants to believe him—wants to melt into his warmth and pretend the past decade never happened.
But deep down, the hurt still pulses. The abandonment, the silence, the bone-deep fear he’ll vanish again when the storm clears.
Tonight, I’ll allow myself this. Curl into his body, let my heartbeat slow to match his, inhale the rain and cedar scent of his skin like it’s the only thing keeping me afloat.
Because tomorrow, reality will crash back in. The villa awaits. No doubt another twist in the game looms. There’s still so much broken between us, and no amount of tangled limbs, orgasms, or whispered promises in this bed can mend it all tonight.