August
She said my name, and I stopped thinking.
Her hand was still on my chest. My hand was still on the back of her neck. The valley was going dark below the deck and the last of the light caught her hair, her collarbones, and the flush that had spread down past the neckline of her shirt.
I pulled her closer, moving slowly enough that she could stop me. She didn’t stop me.
“I haven’t done this before,” she said quietly, her eyes on mine. “Any of it.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I brushed my thumb along her jaw and felt her shiver.
“We don’t have to.”
“I know.” She turned her face into my hand. Her lips grazed my palm, and every rational thought I’d ever had left the building. “I want to.”
I took her inside. The bedroom was all glass, the valley spread out below us, the last light fading from gold to deep blue. I pressed her back against the window. Her shoulders hit the glass and she gasped—the cool surface against her warm skin, the whole city below her.
“Right here,” I said. “I want you right here.”
I kissed her then, deep and slow, tasting the nerves and the want on her tongue. She melted into it, her hands sliding up my chest to clutch my shirt as if she needed something solid to hold onto.
I turned her gently, guiding her to face the window. “Hands on the glass,” I murmured against her ear.
She obeyed, palms flattening against the cool surface with a soft exhale. The city sprawled below us, lights just beginning to flicker on as the last of the sun bled away. I pressed in close behind her, my chest to her back, and slipped one hand beneath the waistband of her skirt.
My fingers brushed over smooth skin, then lower, finding the heat of her through her cotton briefs. She was already wet—slick and warm—and the discovery pulled a low moan from my throat.
“God, you feel perfect,” I breathed, kissing the side of her neck as I stroked her slowly.
My other hand slid under her shirt, cupping her breast through the thin lace of her bra. Her nipple hardened against my palm as I teased it, rolling it gently between my fingers.
She whimpered, the sound soft and needy, her hips pressing back against me. I kept my touch deliberate, circling her clit with two fingers, then dipping lower to feel her wetness coat them.
Every gasp and shudder she gave me went straight to my cock, already straining against my pants. Her breathing grew ragged, little moans escaping with each stroke, and I could hear the faint squeak of her palms sliding on the glass as she trembled.
I didn’t rush. Even when she started rocking against my hand, chasing the pleasure, I kept the rhythm steady, learning exactly what made her breath hitch and her thighs shake. “That’s it,” I whispered when her moans turned sharper, higher. “Let go for me.”
She came with a broken cry of my name, her whole body tightening, pulsing around my fingers as her forehead dropped against the glass. The sound of it—raw, surprised, utterly hers—nearly undid me.
I held her through it, kissing her shoulder, murmuring how beautiful she was. When her legs steadied, we shed our clothes in a haze of urgent touches and stolen kisses. Her hands were shaking as she helped push my shirt off, and I took my time with hers, savoring every inch of newly revealed skin.
Once we were both naked, I lifted her. She wrapped her legs around my waist instinctively, her arms circling my neck as I pressed her back against the glass. The city glowed behind her now, a glittering backdrop to the way her eyes locked on mine—trusting, a little nervous, but full of want.
I went slow. So slow. The head of my cock nudged against her entrance, slick with her arousal, and I eased into her inch by inch, groaning at the tight, velvet heat enveloping me.
She was incredibly tight, her body resisting at first before yielding.
A soft, surprised sound escaped her lips, and I stilled, breathing with her.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I forced out, fighting every instinct to thrust deeper.
She felt like heaven—hot, wet, gripping me so perfectly it bordered on pain. I rocked gently, letting her adjust, kissing her through every shallow breath and quiet whimper until she relaxed around me.
Then I sank the rest of the way in, burying myself fully. The moan she let out vibrated against my mouth, and I answered it with a deep groan of my own, the sound rough and unrestrained.
We moved together against the glass, her legs locked tight around me, the cool surface at her back contrasting with the heat where we joined.
I thrust deeper, steadier, losing myself in the slick slide of her body, the way she clenched around me with every roll of my hips.
Her moans grew louder, breathy and desperate, mingling with my own ragged sounds—low growls and her name on my lips.
I could hear the faint rhythmic thump of her back against the window with each thrust, the wet sounds of our bodies meeting, her quick gasps turning into cries as pleasure built again.
I could tell she was close but not quite there. I shifted my grip, holding her steady with one arm under her thigh.
“Touch yourself,” I whispered hotly against her ear, my voice rough with need. “Right here, like I did. Let me feel you come while I’m inside you.”
Her breath hitched at the words, but she didn’t hesitate.
One of her hands slipped between us, her fingers finding her clit.
The first tentative circles made her tighten around me so sharply, I had to grit my teeth to keep control.
The sight of her touching herself while I moved inside her—slow, deep strokes that let me feel every flutter and squeeze—was the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced.
Her moans grew higher, needier, her forehead pressed against my shoulder as she worked herself in time with my thrusts.
“That’s it, baby,” I groaned, the words rough against her skin. “You feel so fucking good. Let me hear you.”
Her fingers moved faster, her body starting to tremble. I kept the rhythm steady and deep, grinding against her with every thrust, feeling her walls pulse and flutter around my cock. Her sounds turned into desperate little cries, her free hand clutching at my back, nails digging in.
When she finally came, it hit her hard—her whole body seizing around me, a sharp, broken moan tearing from her throat as she clenched and pulsed in waves.
The sensation dragged me over the edge with her.
I buried myself deep and came with a guttural groan, spilling inside her as pleasure slammed through me in blinding pulses.
We clung to each other through the aftershocks, breathing hard, hearts hammering in sync as the last traces of sunset faded into night behind us.
A few minutes later, she was curled against me in the bed.
The valley was dark below us, the city reduced to scattered lights through the glass.
Her head was on my chest, and her breathing had slowed.
Her fingers were tracing the ink on my shoulder, following the lines without asking what they meant.
The house was quiet. It was always quiet, but tonight the silence had something inside it. Her breathing. Her fingertips on my skin. The warmth of her body pressed against mine under sheets that had never been shared.
Four years I’d lived in this house, and it had never once been quiet like this—the kind of quiet that had something in it.
Eliza shifted against me, her hand settling flat over my heart.
For the first time since I’d moved in, the house felt like what I’d built it to be.