Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nysa
I don’t know where I end and he begins.
Hopper is everywhere—his lips, his hands, his body pressing into mine, heat seeping through my clothes, through my skin, into my bones.
His mouth is devouring me. His tongue sweeping deep, claiming, making me helpless to anything but him.
I don’t want to fight this anymore.
I don’t want to run.
I just want him.
And I want all of him.
He licks his lips. “Look at you,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs as I continue trembling after the way he made me come so hard. He called me his good girl and I shouldn’t care, but I care so much to be just that. His.
I squirm, needy, desperate, aching.
“Hopper,” I whimper. “I need you.”
His eyes snap to mine.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he rasps. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of his belt, and then he’s standing at the edge of the bed, his jeans and boxers sliding down his hips, revealing . . .
Oh.
Oh, God.
My breath catches in my throat.
He’s thick, long and heavy, veins running along the impressive length, the broad head already glistening.
I swallow hard, my thighs clenching together instinctively.
He notices.
A slow, dangerous smirk curves his lips. “You can handle it,” he murmurs, his voice low and knowing.
My stomach tightens.
“I don’t know if I can.”
His smirk fades. His eyes darken.
“Then I’ll make sure you do.”
I hear the snap of foil, and then he’s rolling a condom over his length, his jaw clenched tight, his muscles coiled with restraint.
He kneels on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, his body taut with tension. The glow of the bedside lamp casts sharp lines over his muscles, his abdomen flexing as he shifts forward, settling between my legs. The warmth of his skin sinks into mine as he drags his hands down my thighs, spreading them wider, his gaze locked onto me like I’m the only thing that exists in this moment.
A slow, shuddering exhale leaves him as he grips himself, running the thick head of his cock through the slick heat of my entrance, teasing, testing, dragging it over my clit just to watch me squirm. My breath catches, anticipation buzzing beneath my skin, winding me tighter, making me ache. Then, he leans over me, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath heavy, his hands framing my face.
“I need you to relax, baby,” he murmurs. “Let me in.”
I nod, my body thrumming with anticipation.
He groans, low and rough, as he presses forward, the stretch pulling a gasp from my lips. My nails sink into his shoulders, clinging to the solid heat of him as he pushes deeper, inch by inch, until he’s seated fully inside me.
Oh, God.
Oh, fuck.
He’s so fucking big.
I tense slightly, and he notices immediately.
His lips brush over my jaw. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he soothes. “I’ve got you.”
I exhale shakily, forcing myself to relax, to open for him. Then he pushes in.
The fullness steals my breath, the way he fits, the way he feels—like he was made for this, for me. My mind goes blank—the only thing left is the overwhelming sensation of him, the way he presses so deep, so perfect.
He stills for a second, like he’s savoring it, like he’s struggling against the raw, pulsing need to move. Then he leans down, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath ragged, his hands framing my face as he whispers, “Mine. You’re mine, Nys.”
My breath catches, my body trembling beneath him, my fingers clutching at his shoulders.
He stills, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Jesus, Nysa,” he grits out. “You’re so fucking tight.”
He groans, low and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest as he holds himself still, letting me adjust. My body clenches around him, pulsing, stretching to accommodate the thick, aching fullness of him. I whimper, my breath stuttering as sensation overwhelms me, a sharp edge of too much, too good.
His hands are everywhere—cradling my face, smoothing down my sides, grounding me. He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, his lips warm, his breath soft as he whispers, “I’ve got you.”
Another kiss—my temple, then my cheek, the side of my mouth—each touch melting something inside me, unraveling the tension in my limbs. His fingers trace soothing circles along my hip, his nose brushing against my jaw as he waits, patient, controlled, letting me take what I need.
I exhale, my body loosening, opening for him, the sting fading into a delicious, spreading heat.
And then, inch by inch, he pushes deeper.
My lashes flutter, my lips parting as he fills me completely, the pressure turning into something potent, something devastatingly good. A shudder rolls through him, his forehead dropping to mine, his body trembling with restraint.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice raw, reverent. “You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking mine.”
I barely have time to catch my breath before he rolls his hips, the first slow drag of him leaving me gasping, clinging to him as pleasure coils deep and tight. I suck in a sharp breath, my nails digging into his skin as he fills me completely, stretching me to the limit, making me feel every inch of him.
Oh, my God.
He’s everywhere.
I feel full, wrecked, consumed.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel him. His forehead presses against mine, his breath hot against my lips.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I force my eyes open, locking onto his.
And that’s when I see it. The absolute possession in his gaze. The raw intensity that makes my stomach tighten and my pulse stutter. All the love. The love that I want to deny myself.
“You’re taking me so fucking well,” he rasps, his voice wrecked, reverent.
I whimper, rolling my hips slightly, needing more. Needing the friction.
His lips curve into a dangerous smirk.
“There’s my good girl.” He kisses my temple. “You want more, baby?”
“Yes,” I beg, and then he starts to move.
It’s slow, deep, calculated.
Every thrust stretches me open, fills me to the hilt, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside me.
His grip on my hips tightens, holding me down, making sure I take every inch.
I arch into him, my body begging for more, my breath coming in sharp, ragged moans.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
I whimper, my nails dragging down his back, my body trembling beneath him.
He pulls back slightly, his hand wrapping around my throat, tilting my chin just enough to meet his gaze.
“You were made for this,” he murmurs, thrusting deep, making me gasp, shatter, break apart beneath him. “Made for me.”
I nod frantically, my breath stuttering, my body coiling tight.
“Hopper—”
“I know, baby,” he growls, snapping his hips faster, harder, deeper.
His fingers press into my clit, his lips brushing against mine, his voice low, filthy.
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
And I do.
The world blurs, my body convulsing around him, pleasure crashing over me in violent waves.
Hopper groans, losing control, his thrusts turning desperate, wild, until he finally spills inside me, his body shuddering against mine.
He stills, his thick length buried deep inside me, stretching me in a way that feels almost unbearable, almost too much—until his hands are on me, smoothing over my hips, my sides, his touch a silent reassurance. My body clenches around him, trying to adjust, and I whimper, my breath shuddering against his lips.
His response is immediate, tender. He cups my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek before he kisses me—soft, reverent, like he’s savoring me. “You feel so good, baby,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against my forehead, then my temple, then lower, brushing against my jaw. “So perfect for me.”
Another kiss, over the corner of my mouth, like he’s giving me time, like he’s grounding me in the warmth of him. His fingers stroke down my arms, finding my hands, threading them together as he whispers, “I love you.”
The words are raw, unguarded, like they’re pulled straight from his soul. My chest tightens, something deep and aching unfurling inside me.
“You own me,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to mine. “Every inch of me. Every thought, every breath—I’m yours.”
My throat tightens, my fingers squeezing his in silent response. I feel everything in that moment—his love, the depth of it, the way he holds me like I’m precious, irreplaceable.
And then, inch by inch, he pushes deeper, filling me completely. A broken moan slips from my lips, my body trembling as he moves, slow and deliberate, his hips rolling in a way that makes my toes curl. He never stops whispering to me, his voice hushed, reverent.
“You’re my good girl,” he praises, his lips brushing my ear, his words wrapping around me like a caress. “Taking me so well. Letting me love you like this.”
I arch into him, my body attuned to his, moving with him, lost in the rhythm of him, the feel of him, the way he loves me—not just with his body, but with his words, his hands, the way he never stops touching me, never stops holding me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever known.
And when the pleasure finally shatters, breaking over me in waves, his arms tighten around me, his body trembling as he follows, his release spilling into the condom as he buries his face against my neck.
He doesn’t let go.
Instead, he gathers me closer, rolling us so I’m tucked against his chest, his heart pounding beneath my palm. His lips find my hair, his breath warm against my skin as he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”
His hands move over me, soothing, stroking, worshiping. He kisses my shoulder, my forehead, every place he can reach, his voice a soft murmur of praise. “So proud of you, sweetheart. You were so good for me.”
A strong arm hooks around my waist, pulling me flush against him as his other hand smooths over my stomach, then lower, between my legs, where I’m still sensitive, still trembling. I gasp, but he only hushes me, kissing my temple as his fingers move with infinite tenderness, cleaning me up, taking care of me in every way.
When he’s done, he tugs the blankets up, cocooning us in warmth.
“You okay?” he asks, tipping my chin up so I have to meet his gaze. There’s so much in his eyes—love, devotion, an unwavering need to take care of me.
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
His expression softens as he brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”
And when I finally drift to sleep, it’s with his arms around me, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, and the absolute certainty that I am loved beyond measure.