Chapter 16 Ego
Ego
She tastes like sin and sugar.
Like everything I’ve ever wanted but never let myself have.
And I don’t mean the kind of want that burns through your veins and makes your cock throb with need—though yeah, there’s that too.
But this? This is different. This is deeper.
When she rocks her hips, grinding her sweet cunt against my mouth like she’s riding the edge of heaven—yeah, I could die like this. I’d die happy.
She moans, low and ragged, and I feel her fall apart beneath my tongue.
Every tremble. Every pulse. Every broken whisper of my name.
Theo.
She doesn’t even realize she’s calling me that now. But it kills me.
Wrecks me in the best fucking way.
By the time I crawl up her soft, flushed body and kiss her—open-mouthed, filthy, full of the tangy sweet taste of her—she meets me with a hunger that steals every coherent thought from my brain.
Sabrina Rosetto is not some blushing virgin.
No. She’s a fucking goddess in this bed.
Wild and wicked and mine.
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me harder, deeper, pulling me under like I’m the only man who’s ever mattered.
And maybe I am. Because I swear, if anyone else has ever touched her like this—they didn’t deserve her.
My cock is leaking, thick with need, pressed against her thigh.
I can’t remember the last time I was this close to losing it before I was even inside.
But I slow myself down.
Grip the back of her neck with one hand and guide myself to her soaked entrance with the other.
“Angel,” I rasp, forehead against hers. “You ready for me?”
She’s already dripping for me.
Her tight, wet heat is kissing the head of my dick like she’s begging me to slide home.
But I wait. I will always wait.
I need to hear it from her.
She looks up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and clear.
“I’m ready,” she whispers. “I trust you, Theo.”
Fuck.
That’s it. That’s the moment.
Something inside my chest cracks open like a dam, and everything I’ve held back comes rushing out in a tidal wave of feeling.
Trust. From her.
That’s the real high.
That’s what I’ll chase for the rest of my goddamn life.
I push forward, slow, and steady, and her body welcomes me like it’s been waiting for me all along.
Her tight, wet heat sucks me in inch by inch, and I bite back a groan as I bury myself to the hilt.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She’s gripping me like a fist. Like she was molded just for me.
And when I open my eyes—she’s watching me.
Wide-eyed. Breath hitching. Lips parted.
“Okay?” I ask, voice strained.
She nods, trembling beneath me. “More than okay.”
I start to move, slow at first, giving her time to adjust. Her hands roam my back, nails scraping, fingers clinging.
“God, you feel so good,” she moans.
My control is hanging by a thread.
“You feel like home,” I growl, driving deeper.
Her breath catches.
I press a kiss to her lips, then her jaw, then her throat, as I start to thrust harder, deeper, holding her in place with one hand behind her neck and the other gripping her hip.
She wraps her legs around me, opening wider, taking every inch I give her.
I can't stop watching her.
Every expression. Every gasp. Every twitch of her pretty mouth when I hit just right.
That’s mine. Every bit of this. Every inch of her. Mine.
I am fucking obsessed with this woman.
“Sabrina,” I groan, forehead resting against hers, “you’re everything.”
Her eyes flutter open, glassy with emotion.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “Don’t stop, Theo. I’m almost there. I’m gonna come.”
“I got you, Angel,” I vow, thrusting harder, grinding against her clit with every roll of my hips. “Come for me. Now.”
She cries out, body arching, nails digging into my back.
And then she shatters.
Coming apart around me like a prayer and a promise all at once.
Her pussy clenches tight, pulling me over the edge with her.
I curse, loud and filthy, as I empty inside her with a roar, hips jerking, burying myself deep one final time.
We collapse together, tangled in sweat and limbs and everything we haven’t said yet.
She’s breathing hard beneath me, but she doesn’t let go.
Neither do I.
I press a kiss to her temple. Her cheek. Her mouth.
And when I whisper, “I’m yours,” against her lips, I mean every word.
Because I am.
All of me.
Forever.
Her eyes do it.
That soft, stunned look—like she’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that this is real.
That I’m real.
That we just crossed a line neither of us can ever uncross.
It hits me straight in the chest.
And my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
I’m still inside her, still feeling the aftershocks of what we just shared, when I feel myself hardening again.
Not from friction. Not from movement.
Just from her.
From the way she looks at me like I’m something sacred and dangerous all at once.
“Again,” I murmur, my voice rough, barely held together. “Angel, slower this time.”
I rock my hips gently, keeping it controlled, deliberate.
My thrusts are shallow, the base of my cock grinding against her.
Every movement is measured, intentional, like I’m memorizing the way she responds to me.
She exhales, shaky, breath catching as her body welcomes me all over again—warm, wet, open.
Like she was made to fit me.
And fuck yes, she was.
Her body tightens around me, a slow, instinctive response that makes my jaw clench.
Her sweet pussy convulses.
I brace myself over her, forearms planted beside her shoulders, holding her gaze.
“So good,” I growl. “You feel so damn good.”
Her lips part. Her breath stutters.
“I-I don’t think I can,” she mewls.
I slide my hand between us, my touch confident now, familiar.
When my fingers find that sensitive spot, her eyes fly open and her back arches instinctively.
Her body responds immediately—tightening, fluttering, pulling me deeper like she’s claiming me right back.
“Oh God, it’s too much, I—I can’t,” she whispers, overwhelmed.
I shake my head, pressing my forehead to hers.
“You can. You will.”
I move with her, slow and deep, letting the connection build instead of burn out.
Letting her feel every second of it.
Letting myself feel it too.
Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails biting into my skin as her breath turns ragged.
“Let. Go.”
And when her body starts to tremble again, when I feel her give in—completely—I start to thrust in earnest.
This isn’t just sex anymore. This is something else.
Something heavier.
Something that’s going to change both of us whether we’re ready or not.
This is claiming. This is choosing.
This is me and her becoming us.
And as I hold her through it, murmuring her name like a promise, one thought settles deep in my bones.
I’m never letting her go.