Chapter 11 Elena #3
A dark chuckle rumbles through him as he scissors his fingers, stretching me, and I bite my lip to keep some of my sounds at bay. His thumb moves in maddening strokes, and I try to chase the friction with my hips.
“Harry—”
“So impatient,” he teases, but there’s a strain in his voice.
His wrist twists, just enough that he can easily hit that spot inside of me with ridiculous accuracy, and there’s no use trying to hide the moans clawing up my throat.
They fall out whether I want them to or not.
“Come for me first if you want me to fuck you properly.”
The words send a jolt through me, already working me toward the edge. The rough bark bites into my shoulders through the thin fabric of my shirt, but I barely notice, not when he’s doing that, not when I can barely breathe with him on me like this.
Every inhale feels like a goddamn challenge.
He teases me, drawing it out, purposely giving me just shy of enough. My thighs tremble around his hand, my fingers losing the barely-there rhythm I had with my strokes, and the bastard chuckles against my neck when my hand goes slack around him.
“Struggling to concentrate, darling?” he murmurs, kissing up the line of my throat until his teeth graze my chin. His eyes lock on mine, heavy lidded, pupils blown, watching me with dark satisfaction written all over his face.
“Maybe a—ah—bit,” I whimper.
“Tell me,” he says, nostrils flaring. “Tell me how badly you want me.”
Dear god. “Harry—”
“Mhm, that’s my name. Try again.”
“Fuck—please, I need—please—”
His fingers thrust harder, hitting perfectly, and my whole body jerks.
He doesn’t let up, putting just the right amount of pressure against my clit, keeping his relentless pace until I’m panting, shaking, breaking, until I’m so close I can barely think past the haze of pleasure coiling in my stomach, until I can’t breathe at all—
His lower lip catches on my chin as he drags his mouth back to mine, hovering. “Come for me, Elena.”
He kisses me.
I shatter.
It crashes into me like a freak wave, wringing a choked cry from my throat that he swallows, my hips jerking against his hand.
My vision whites out for a heartbeat, and he doesn’t stop, just slows his fingers, drags the pleasure out, touching me until I’m overstimulated and whimpering and slumping against the tree for support.
He doesn’t give me time to catch my breath or come back to myself.
One hand skates down my right leg and lifts, gripping the bunched fabric of my leggings and underwear and yanking them down to my ankle.
He undoes the laces of my boot with one hand, pulling it off and letting it clatter to the ground, and then the rest slips free after, leaving me with one bare leg.
Before I can even understand the why, he’s bending down, his strong, solid arms hooking around my thighs from the inside and lifting.
My back hits the bark again, my body entirely supported by him, spread open by him, and my pulse pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“Look at me,” he orders, and his voice is so deep, so rough, that I barely recognize it.
I force my eyes open. His gaze is burning, barely green, raw — the hunger hardly restrained.
Rigid, velvety warmth presses against my entrance, and I almost look down, almost break his gaze just to see the impossibility of that, but he juts his chin toward me.
A silent don’t. The head of his cock drags through my slickness, teasing, taunting me in my immobile position, and just as I open my mouth to beg, to complain, to do something, he presses in an inch.
An inch.
“Fuck,” I choke out, the stretch already enough to make my vision blur.
He’s massive, far larger than I’m used to, and my body tries to resist for a heartbeat, clenching around him. But he doesn’t stop. He sinks deeper with a groan, inch by torturous inch, splitting me open until he’s fully seated, his hips flush against my inner thighs.
His breathing is ragged against my lips as he lets me adjust.
“You feel insane,” he grunts, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “So—fuck, so goddamn tight.”
I can’t form words. Not real ones, anyway, when he’s inside me like this, filling me so completely that I can feel him with every shuddered breath.
He kisses me properly, heated and demanding, swallowing my gasp when he finally pulls back, dragging his length through me — just to thrust back in, deep and punishing.
And he was worried about the bears tearing me to shreds.
“This what you wanted, darling?” His voice is broken with restraint, his hips snapping forward in slow, deliberate strokes. “After claiming so valiantly that you wouldn’t sleep with me. Look at yourself.”
I don’t even have it in me to be annoyed about that. “Yes,” I whimper.
My nails dig into his shoulder and the back of his neck as he sets a relentless pace, the bark scraping my back with every sharp thrust. He keeps me locked in position, spread open to take him, his body pinning me like a restraint—
I feel owned. And for once in my life, I’m not upset about it.
Every thrust drags over the sweet spot inside me, sending shocks of pleasure through me, twisting my gut again. “Can’t reach you while I’m holding you up,” he grunts. “Touch yourself for me. Let me watch you.”
I don’t think, just follow his order. My hand slides down between us, fingers circling my clit the way I like it most when I do it myself, but god, it’s not the same, it’s not as good as his hand on me. But having him buried inside of me makes up for it.
“You—fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, his forehead tipping forward onto mine. “Come again for me. I know you can. Need to—ah—need to feel it.”
The sound that comes from me is more like a sob than a moan, my pleasure peaking, my veins on fire with every snap of his hips—
“Christ, Elena—”
I break again, my release slamming into me harder than he is, barely a warning before it hits me violently. It’s overwhelming, mind-numbing, and I can’t hear whatever tears from my throat, can’t hear whatever he says in the height of it.
But it’s his undoing.
Reality crashes in around me the moment his hips stutter and a guttural, broken groan rips from him. He buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside of me, bits of bark breaking off where he’s clutching the tree on either side of me.
We’re both shaking when he finally stills, his breath hot against my lips, his exhales wheezed.
I have no idea what to say. Fuck you? This was a mistake, we need a divorce, what the hell have we done?
But that would all be lies. Because I don’t regret it, not for a second, not after the way he looks at me as he slowly comes down from the high, not after the gentleness of his actions as he slowly lowers me back to the ground. Not after any of it.
Maybe that’s the worst mistake of it all.