Cassius #2
Her eyes fly open, locking onto mine. There’s a second—a heartbeat—where everything slows down, where we’re just staring at each other, moving together, breathing the same air, my cock buried deep inside her as her walls flutter around me.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I really do.”
The bottom drops out of my world.
Something in my chest just gives. Whatever flimsy dam I had in place cracks wide open. The next few minutes are a blur of heat and skin and her voice in my ear, but that sentence keeps echoing under it all.
I really do. I really do.
I keep thrusting slow and deep, grinding against her with every stroke so the base of my cock rubs firm circles over her clit, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck so I can stay close, foreheads almost touching.
I can feel every little twitch and flutter inside her, the way she keeps tightening around me like she never wants to let go.
When she comes, it’s not neat or quiet. Her back bows hard off the bed, fingers digging into me hard enough to sting, her face buried in the pillow as she tries—and totally fails—to muffle the sounds.
Her walls clamp down around my cock in pulsing waves, slick and tight and rhythmic, squeezing me so perfectly it pulls me even deeper as she gasps my name over and over.
I hold on, moving with her through it, gritting my teeth and dragging in air because the way she says my name when she falls apart damn near takes me with her.
I don’t make it much longer.
My rhythm breaks, everything in me pulling tight at once.
I choke out her name, burying my face against her shoulder as it hits—hot, sharp, knocking every thought clean out of my head.
I come hard inside her, spilling deep into the condom in thick pulses while my hips jerk roughly a few more times.
A shudder runs down my spine, and then it’s over, leaving me trembling and wrapped around her.
I manage to roll off and clean up before I collapse right beside her—half on her, half off, chest heaving like I ran miles.
“Wow.” Her voice is wrecked, hair a mess around her face. “Okay. We’re… good at this.”
A laugh punches out of me, rough and disbelieving. “Yeah,” I whisper, rubbing her softly because I can’t stop touching her, ever. “We really are.”
We lay there for a while, catching our breath. I roll onto my side and pull her with me, tucking her against my chest. One of her legs gets thrown over mine like it always does, and my hand finds its way automatically to her hip.
There’ll be finger-shaped marks there by morning that I should probably feel bad about.
But I oddly don’t.
“You alright?” I ask quietly, brushing my thumb over the forming bruise in soft circles now.
She hums. “Mm-hmm.”
“That a real word?”
“It’s Zae for ‘I feel incredible and can’t move my legs.’”
A grin tugs at my mouth. I lean in and kiss her forehead, tasting salt and skin.
“Good,” I murmur. “Just what I like to hear.”
She snorts, but there’s no real bite in it. “Cocky much?”
“Extremely,” I shoot back, because I don’t really mean it. Part of me is worried I went too far.
She snuggles closer, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest. For a blissed-out minute, there’s just the sound of our breathing. Then, because apparently I have a death wish, I say, “Round two later?”
Her head tips back so she can glare at me, but her eyes are smiling. “You’re insatiable.”
“Been holding this in for four years, Sunshine,” I remind her, running my thumb over her chin, tracing the tip along her lower lip. “You unleashed a monster. This is on you.”
Her lips twitch in response. “You blaming Loch now?”
“Absolutely not,” I groan, dropping my head back against the pillow. “We’re not talking about Loch when I’m trying to be romantic.”
She laughs so hard her shoulders shake. “You are so romantic,” she teases, drawing invisible hearts on my collarbone with her fingertip. “If I had parents worth a damn, they’d be thrilled.”
I flip us suddenly, rolling her onto her back again and bracing myself above her on my forearms. She squeaks, hands flying to my biceps.
“Careful,” she scolds. “You’re gonna break me.”
“Nah.” I look down at her. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’ll be fine.”
Her face softens at that.
I lower my forehead to hers, our noses brushing. “We can keep it slow this time,” I murmur. “I just… wanna feel you again.”
She searches my eyes like she’s checking for hidden clauses. Whatever she sees there must pass inspection, because she nods, one hand sliding up to cup the side of my face.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’m yours, remember?”
My chest squeezes. “Yeah. I remember.”
The rest of the night blurs into fragments:
Her laughter against my mouth when I mutter something stupid between kisses. Her palm splayed over my heart as we move together again—slower this time, deeper, like we’ve got all the time in the world.
There’s this moment—somewhere in the middle of everything—where she’s straddling me, hair falling forward, cheeks flushed, breath shaking. My hands are on her hips, holding her steady, guiding her, and she looks down at me like she’s trying to memorize my face.
It ruins me forever.
Every roll of her hips makes my breath catch; every quiet little sound she lets slip punches straight through my ribs.
I run my hands up her stomach, brushing my fingers lightly over the underside of her breasts, feeling her shiver, feeling her tighten around me in a way that nearly drags a curse out of my throat.
She leans forward and presses her forehead to mine, whispering something soft—something I don’t even fully catch because I’m too far gone.
All I know is that her voice cracks on the last word, and I cup her face, thumbs sweeping her cheeks before she kisses me—slow, searching, hungry in a way that feels like she’s trying to say everything she’s too scared to say out loud.
At some point, I flip us—gently, carefully—because I need to feel her beneath me again. Need to watch her expression break open as I sink back into her. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, making it impossible to hold back the groan that rumbles low in my chest.
Her nails trace lines down my back, not scratching—just holding. Claiming. Her mouth moves against my jaw, my neck, whispering my name in these breathless little fragments that make me lose track of everything except her.
The world shrinks to the heat of her body, the sound of her breath, the way she tightens around me each time I thrust deeper. Nothing exists outside this bed. Nothing feels real except her and this and us.
We hit this point where it stops being just heat and turns into something heavier—something that makes my chest ache. That’s when she starts whispering, barely a breath against my lips.
“You make it quieter in my head.”
“I feel safe with you.”
“Don’t stop.”
Then there’s me pressing my forehead to hers, whispering back promises I mean with my whole stupid heart.
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I love you so much it scares me.”
She falls asleep eventually, sprawled half on top of me, skin flushed, covered in my marks. There are hickeys along her neck and scattered over her chest, faint shadows on her hips where my fingers held too tight.
I brush my thumb over one, softer now, and feel her shift, murmuring something incoherent against my throat.
“Sorry,” I whisper, even though I’m not. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.”
She makes a sleepy noise that might be “worth it” and burrows closer.
I lie there, exhausted in the best possible way, tracing patterns on her back and listening to her breathing even out. My muscles ache. My body is wrecked. My heart feels—God—full. Too full.
She’s going to wake up tomorrow covered in my colors and probably cursing my name when she tries to walk.
I’ll be right there with water, Advil, and a stupid amount of pride. Because she’s mine. And I’m hers. And for the first time in a long time, that actually feels like enough.