Chapter 26 #3
A low, guttural groan tore from his chest, deep and unrestrained—the kind a man makes when every last bit of control slips. His forehead dropped against my cheek for half a second, breath shaking, before something in him snapped entirely.
We both moved at once.
His hands were suddenly everywhere, frantic and reverent—hooking into my waistband, tugging fabric down my hips as I kicked free of my shorts.
My fingers fumbled with the button of his pants, as desperate, clumsy, sounds came out of me.
He let out another rough breath—almost a curse, almost a prayer—as he helped me push the rest of our clothes down, our movements fast, yet tangled, and hungry at the same time.
Clothes landed on the floor in forgotten piles.
Then he was over me again, skin to skin, heat to heat, his breath ragged against my mouth. His hand found me once more—this time without anything between us—and the moment his fingers pressed exactly where I ached for him, I gasped––my back arched sharply into his touch.
He whispered my name against my neck, like he’d never said anything sweeter.
And somehow—without asking, without searching—he pressed into me with the exact rhythm, the exact pressure that made my thoughts scatter.
Like he understood the boundaries of my body better than I did.
Like he’d been waiting to learn them since we first met.
And God… I wanted to hand him the road map.
I found myself touching him too—without thinking, without the armor I usually wore between myself and the world.
My palms slid over the heat of his chest, tracing the cut of muscle beneath smooth skin.
His breath hitched the instant my nails skimmed the line of his abs.
I couldn’t stop myself—I explored every inch I could reach, hungry for him.
The more I touched, the more I wanted. Greed curled through me like a lit fuse, sparking hotter with every breath he dragged in.
Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me as his mouth dragged along my jaw. His hips pressed closer, and the slow, deliberate roll of his body sent sparks exploding behind my eyes.
“I want you,” he murmured, voice rough against my ear—
And God… I felt it.
In every nerve. Every inhale. Every place his body touched mine.
I hadn’t realized until that moment just how badly I wanted him too.
Heat curled low in my belly, tightening with such force that it stole my breath.
My hand skimmed over the hard lines of his torso, down the ridges of his stomach, until I wrapped my fingers around the length of him.
His breath hitched, a low sound escaping him—one that made something melt inside me.
My other hand wrapped around his back, and I tugged him closer. “Do you have a condom?”
He stilled—not in hesitation, but with intent. Then he rolled to his side and reached into the nightstand. A foil packet caught the light, and he tore it open with his teeth, causing something inside me to clench.
He slid it over his length, his movements smooth and confident—but there was an edge to him too. Something tight. Something that felt like restraint hanging by a thread.
When he settled over me again, the realization of what we were about to do knocked the air from my lungs.
He lowered himself between my thighs, the heat of him pressing against me as he braced himself on his elbows. Slowly, with so much restraint that his jaw clenched with it, he eased inside me.
My hands slid up his back as my body adjusted to every inch of him, welcoming his girth with a slow shuddering exhale. I pulled him closer as the world narrowed to the sound of our breathing, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his weight on top of me.
When he was fully inside, I let out a breath.
He held perfectly still, giving me time to adjust.
Then hips began to move––his or mine I couldn’t be sure. Rhythm built into deep steady thrusts.
My teeth sank into his shoulder as every movement stole another part of my composure. One second, I was in control—the next, hips were pounding, his breath rough in my ear, his hand sliding down to my slick heat, guiding me even closer toward the edge of my own orgasm .
“Dean—”
His name broke out of me, helpless and honest.
He buried his face in my neck, kissing me, holding me close as the pressure began to build.
My back arched against him, and a helpless sound slipped from my throat. Then everything inside of me fractured into a thousand pieces.
Every nerve lit at once.
Every inhale caught.
My fingers clutched at his shoulders. Then my body was shaking, tightening, unraveling.
He murmured something against my throat, something low and broken that I couldn’t distinguish—just the feeling of it, warm breath and a tremble I’d never heard in his voice before.
He held me through all of it, one hand gripping the sheet beside my hip, the other sliding up my side as though he could steady the shudder pulsing through me.
And then he followed—his body tensing, his breath going shallow and desperate where it hit my skin.
A rough sound escaped him, muffled against my neck, and I felt every part of him give way, every ounce of control snapping as he pressed closer, like he needed the contact as much as I did.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
We just held on.
Two people clinging to something that felt too big, too fragile, too real to fully understand.
When the tremors eased, my fingers slipped into his hair, cradling him without thinking—
Like my body already knew him.
Like this was a place it had been waiting years to rest.
He exhaled against my collarbone, a soft, shaky breath that made my heart twist.
And neither of us said a word.
Because the silence said everything.
Slowly, Dean’s hand loosened from the sheets, but he didn’t pull away—not entirely. He hovered there, his forehead resting just beneath my jaw for a moment longer, as if he needed one last breath of steadiness before he dared speak.
When he finally lifted his head, his expression was soft. Bare. Almost stunned.
“I didn’t realize…” he murmured, then stopped.
My heart skittered, but I forced the words out. “Realize what?”
He lifted himself just a fraction, brushing a strand of my hair back with his hand. His thumb sweeping along my cheekbone, slow and reverent, his eyes tracing every line like he was memorizing me.
“How well we would fit together,” he whispered.
The words struck something fragile inside me—something I’d spent weeks trying not to feel, something I wasn’t prepared for but couldn’t deny.
“Me either,” I breathed.
But it wasn’t just the physical closeness.
It was everything—the way he touched me, the way he’d listened to me, the way he looked at me like I wasn’t something to hide from or apologize for.
And with a certainty so soft it nearly broke me…
I realized I was falling in love with him.