16. 15 #4
Her breath caught the moment she began to lower herself onto him, her body stretching slowly, achingly, around his fullness. The sensation was sharp at first, almost overwhelming, but heat rushed through her, flooding every nerve.
“That’s it.” His own breath caught in his throat. “Fuck—good girl. Just like that.”
A gasp tore from her lips, her hands bracing against his chest as her body adjusted, inch by inch. He whispered her name, steadying her with praise and gentle hands on her hips, but she barely heard him over the rush of her own heartbeat.
“Shh.” He held her close. “Let it hurt a little.”
When she finally rested against his hips, a tremor rippled through her, her thighs quivering as she stilled. The ache was there, yes, but threaded with a deep, intoxicating pleasure that made her chest tighten. “Lance—you’re so—” She couldn’t finish, her voice breaking on a cry.
He would’ve flashed a cocky smirk if he wasn’t so lost in her tight warmth.
Her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the fullness, the way he stretched and filled her completely. She felt opened, claimed, cherished all at once, her body alive in ways she hadn’t known it could be.
His hands stroked her waist, grounding her, but it was the slow pulse of her own body around him that made her shiver.
She shifted slightly, testing the feel of him within her, and a moan slipped from her throat before she could stop it.
The sound seemed to ignite her. She pressed her palms harder against his chest, lifting herself only to sink back down again, this time with a soft cry.
The friction sparked pleasure through her, tender but consuming, each movement unraveling her more.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of it, from the way being with him like this felt both fragile and infinite.
“You—you feel so good,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she rocked against him, careful but full of need. “Please, Lance … I need more.”
Her plea undid him.
Lance’s restraint frayed, his fingers tightening on her hips as he guided her into a steadier rhythm.
He’d meant to be careful, to hold back for her sake, but watching her tremble, hearing her voice crack on his name—it was too much.
He lifted her until the tip of his cock threatened to slip, then pulled her back down, hips rising sharply to meet hers.
“Gods, Mabel,” he groaned, thrusting harder to meet her movements. She couldn’t speak, mouth hanging open, endless whines falling from her swollen lips.
She moved with him, her body finding its rhythm, each rise and fall flooding her with pleasure. The stretch was still sharp, still new, but the ache melted into something deeper, waves of heat pulsing through her, curling low in her belly.
Her head tipped back, a moan spilling from her lips, and the sight made his chest seize. He couldn’t look anywhere else. “You’re so beautiful,” he rasped, his hands gliding up her waist, careful even as his hips lifted harder beneath her.
Every motion drew another sound from her—gasps, moans, his name whispered like a prayer. She felt consumed, undone by the mix of his control and the moments he lost it, by the way he seemed to worship her even as passion overtook him.
Then she felt it under the firm grip of his hands. It felt like something almost shocked her, it buzzed her skin, burned for just a moment, and pulled a sharp gasp from her throat.
Lance stilled his motions, eyes wide. His hands pulled from her. “Mabel, I’m sorry—”
But her hands were pulling his back to her waist, hips desperately rocking against him. “Don’t you dare let me go.”
His magic flared again, sending the pulse through her skin once more. She moaned in surprise at the sensation, body trembling, pleasure building with every flare of his magic.
He blinked at her, eyes wide. “You … Do you like that?” he asked, half in awe, half in shock. He gripped her waist firmly.
Her response was a whimper and a desperate plea. “Yes—gods, yes,” she cried.
Her hands clutched at his shoulders now, nails digging in for anchor as her body moved with his, her skin slick and flushed. He kissed her collarbone, her throat, anywhere his mouth could reach, as though he couldn’t get close enough.
His palm lifted to her breast, the jolt of magic pulsing through the plump skin. She gasped, head tilting back as he kneaded the soft mound.
Their breaths tangled, uneven. She felt herself spiraling, her body building again, and from the spark in his hands, the tightness of his grip, she knew he was breaking too. Her body quaked with each motion, her voice breaking as she clung to him. “Please, Lance—please, I need you—”
Something inside him snapped. With a groan, he shifted suddenly, gripping her waist and pressing her back into the ground. Her gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he hovered over her, kissing her fiercely, every ounce of restraint gone.
“Hold on to me,” he breathed, his voice rough, before driving into her with a rhythm no longer tempered by patience. His weight pressed her into the blanket, his body consuming hers, every thrust making her cry out.
She broke almost instantly, her body shattering around him, trembling violently as release crashed through her yet again. “Lance!” she sobbed, her voice raw, her hands clawing at his back as she came undone beneath him.
Her trembling only spurred him further. He groaned into her neck, his thrusts relentless, using the tight, pulsing grip of her body as she quaked beneath him. Each sound she made, each shudder of aftershock, dragged him closer to the edge.
Her pleas turned to whimpers, her body pliant beneath his as he clutched her hips, burying himself deeper, faster. His name spilled from her lips again and again, breaking with every breath.
Finally, with a ragged shout, he drove into her one last time, hands bracing on the grass, face tucked into her neck, before reluctantly pulling out as his release tore through him.
Mabel felt the ground pulse hard beneath them as his magic released into the grass.
He collapsed against her, shaking, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mingling in the silence that followed.
He kissed her softly—again and again—like she were the only thing anchoring him to the world.
Mabel clung to him, her body still trembling, breath uneven as it tried to catch up with her heart.
“You were perfect,” Lance whispered, low and worshipful as he buried his face into the curve of her neck. “You gave me everything.”
He settled beside her, arms wrapping around her like armor.
She turned slowly, her gaze finding his in the hush between them.
No masks. No titles. Just them.
The hush of night wrapped around them, gentle and unspoken. Tangled limbs. Shared breath. Laughter that faded into silence.
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
She shivered beneath the question, not from cold, but from the way he touched her, like she was something to be cherished, not claimed.
Her eyes fluttered open, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” she breathed, the words carried on the tail of a sigh.
“So much I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. ”
It wasn’t just satisfaction she felt; it was something deeper, more fragile. Like she’d let down a wall she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. And he hadn’t rushed in to tear it down. He’d waited. Asked. Treated her heart like it mattered.
“Thank you,” she whispered, the words barely more than a breath as she laid her hand over his.
Lance glanced over at her, a curious hum in his throat. “For what?”
She turned toward him, her eyes shining in the soft light. “For this. All of it. Tonight. You made it feel … special.”
His features softened. “You deserve special,” he said.
Mabel leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. The quiet wrapped around them like a blanket, the lake mirroring the stars as if the sky had fallen just for them. And in that stillness, with his arm brushing lightly against hers, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time—wanted.
His fingers drifted over her bare hip, dipping to her thigh. He traced the raised edges of a crescent scar on her soft skin. “Is this … from the memory?” he asked quietly.
She froze under his touch, jarred by the thought, just for a moment. A deep, steadying breath of air mixing with the tangled scents of them both was all it took to lull her back into their peace. “Yes,” she admitted.
“A dog?” He met her gaze.
She nodded. “They tracked me down and when they found me …” She shuddered at the memory. She lifted her arm, showing him a matching scar curling along her bicep. “I decided hiding in a tree stump was a good idea. They dragged me out by their teeth.”
His eyes traced the marred flesh before meeting her gaze. “That’s why you’re afraid of them.”
“And spiders,” she teased.
“And men who think they can read you.” He smirked.
“Terrifying.” She nodded with a smile. But her gaze fell. “I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d really made it into the Mirewilde.”
“I thought you said you had?” His hand brushed her hair back from her face, thumb grazing her cheek.
She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s what I told myself.
The only thing that made my attempt seem like it was worth something.
I made it to the Mirewilde.” Her gaze drifted to the treeline across the lake.
“But the truth is … I was too scared. I gave up. I hid in that stump like it would save me from the years of torment.” Her breath trembled.
“But what if I’d been brave enough? What if I made it … and survived?”
Lance pressed a kiss to her neck, warm and sweet. “Well, I guess I’d have to fall in love with a witch.” He laughed gently, but as the words fell from his lips, they both stilled.