14. Chapter 14 #2
There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation, only the slow, deliberate way he slides inside, stretching me open until I can’t breathe.
I cannot tell where I end and he begins.
For a moment, we are both perfectly still, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort it takes not to fuck me hard and fast.
His teeth are bared, jaw clenched, and the look on his face is half agony, half awe, as if he can’t believe I am letting him do this, that I want him this much.
I roll my hips up, desperate to take more of him, and he groans, one hand gripping my hip and the other braced beside my head.
The first thrust is shallow, a testing movement, but I arch up to meet him, greedy for the full force of it.
He gives it to me with the next stroke, deeper, a collision that sends the headboard thumping softly against the wall.
Every part of me learns the shape of him, the rhythm, the ways our bodies find each other in the half-dark. He fucks me slow at first, the kind of deliberate, controlled motion that tells me how long he has wanted this, how much of him is focused on not losing it too soon.
It’s exquisite torture. He stretches me with each stroke until I feel almost too full, and every time I think he’ll pull back, he pushes deeper.
The helpless sounds leaving my mouth are loud in the quiet of the cabin, and I don’t care if anyone in the surrounding woods can hear.
Let them. I want the universe to know exactly what he is doing to me.
Rocco watches my face as he drives into me, his eyes locked on mine, every movement a question.
Is this what you want? Is this enough? The answer is always yes, and I give it with my body, my voice, the way I arch and shiver and dig my nails into his back until he hisses through his teeth and thrusts harder.
I want to memorize every detail of this.
I want to be ruined by this and rebuilt from the inside out.
He fucks like he lives, with determined focus, every muscle straining for control.
But his need is wild and barely contained.
Every time I clench around him, he growls, low in his chest, and the sound makes me want him more.
I rake my nails down his back, leaving marks.
He bares his teeth, eyes never leaving my face, and drives into me so hard I gasp.
“Yes,” I say, barely a whisper, but he hears it and answers with a hand sliding up my side, cupping my breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks again and my whole body tightens.
My hands are everywhere, greedy and uncoordinated, like my body is trying to memorize his. I want to consume him the way he is consuming me, to give back what he gives and match every ounce of his hunger with my own.
When his hand closes around my wrists, I let him guide them above my head. He holds them there with one broad palm while he drives into me, slow and deep. The position leaves me open to the rhythm he chooses, and I surrender to it because I want everything he is giving me.
I give up the last pretense of restraint, crying out as he drives into me, my body clenching desperately around his cock.
He mutters my name into my ear, the sound raw and nearly unrecognizable.
Each time he says it, it feels like a new claim, as if he is etching himself into my skin, my bones, the slick ache between my thighs.
I have never felt so much and wanted so much, all at once.
Every thrust, every touch, every sound he makes, tears something open and then fills it with more of him.
I want to keep him inside me forever, to keep feeling the hard, perfect shape of his cock stretching me, to keep seeing the wild, helpless look in his eyes.
He lets go of my wrists and kisses me, swallowing my moans as he fucks me.
His hand slides between our bodies, searching for my clit, and when he finds it, the electric shock of sensation rips through me so violently I bite down on his lip.
He groans, the sound vibrating through his whole body, and then he pounds into me even harder, fucking me until I’m pinned to the mattress and the only thing I can do is take it, take all of him, take everything he wants to give me.
I want to drag him deeper, hold him there until he splits me apart. I am already close, embarrassingly so, and he knows it. Rocco’s thumb circles my clit while his cock stretches me open. And when I come, the force of it almost frightens me.
I see nothing, feel nothing, except the white-hot pulse of release as it tears through every nerve. I tighten around him, and for a second he loses his rhythm, his control, fucking me in short, desperate thrusts as the orgasm rolls through my body in waves.
Rocco groans my name, over and over, his breath hot against my neck, and then he shudders, slamming into me one final time before he spills inside me. The heat of it spreads inside me while I ride a wave of throbbing sensation.
Rocco collapses over me, his breath ragged against my ear, and for a long, perfect minute we just exist like we’re suspended in time. My arms wrap tightly around his shoulders. Our hearts gallop together while the world narrows to the places where our skin touches.
He is heavy and hot on top of me, but I love the weight, the way his body shields mine.
Gradually, the rhythm of his breath slows, syncs with mine.
He kisses my neck, my jaw, my mouth, softer now, a gentleness returning that we left behind somewhere near the front door.
I run my fingers through his hair, feeling the tension drain from him in increments, leaving something raw and open in its wake.
He pulls out carefully, rolling to his side and bringing me with him until I am tucked against his chest. I am still shaking, my thighs slick and trembling, but I feel more alive and clear-headed than I have since the first vision.
He has taken nothing from me. Even wrung out and trembling, I feel more completely inside my own body than I have since the vision.
I want to tell him so much. I want to pour out every hope, every fear that has dogged me. But what comes out is, “I’m glad you came to my cabin.”
Rocco’s arms tighten around me. He is still hard enough that I feel it, a ridiculous, human triumph. “I couldn’t resist checking on you, kissing you again.”
He kisses my forehead and I burrow into the space beneath his chin.
We lie there, tangled and sweating, the covers pushed halfway down the bed.
I listen to the clamor of our hearts, the silence between them.
I feel a thousand tiny things going on inside me.
My old brittle reservations grinding up against something new and suspiciously like hope.