Chapter 5 – Nicola #2
Something in him snaps. He hooks my legs over his shoulders, folding me nearly in half, and the new angle punches the air from my lungs. He's deeper now, so deep it borders on too much, hitting places that make stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Is this what you need?" His voice is rough, strained, but there's satisfaction threading through it. Possession.
"Yes—oh god, yes—"
He drives into me harder, faster, and I lose the ability to form coherent words. There's only sensation—the stretch of him, the pressure, the friction, the weight of his body pinning me down.
His gaze never leaves my face, watching every reaction, cataloging every gasp and moan. It's intense being seen like this, being watched as I come apart beneath him. But I can't look away either, caught in the dark heat of his eyes.
"You're mine," he says, voice low and absolute.
"Yes," I gasp. The word tears out of me, truth and surrender wrapped into one. "Yes."
He makes a sound deep in his chest of satisfaction, and the rhythm changes, becomes almost brutal in its intensity. I'm pushed higher, pleasure coiling tighter, and I can feel the edge approaching fast.
"Jason—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His hand slides between us, finding where we're joined, and the added pressure makes me cry out. "Let go. I've got you."
And I do. I shatter, pleasure ripping through me in waves so intense I forget how to breathe. My body locks around him, inner muscles clenching rhythmically, and I hear him curse—a bitten-off sound that's half prayer, half desperation.
But he doesn't stop. He keeps moving, drawing out my orgasm until I'm trembling and oversensitive, until the pleasure borders on pain. Only then does he slow, pulling out and shifting our positions.
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs, voice rough.
He pulls me upright, maneuvering us so I'm half-sitting, half-lying while he kneels beside the bed.
The new position is awkward at first, limbs tangling as we figure out the angle, but then he's pushing back inside and the sensation steals my breath all over again.
This angle is different, and I feel him in new places, pressure and stretch in ways that make my toes curl. He grips my hip with one hand, steadying me, while the other braces against the bed. His rhythm is slower now, more controlled, but no less intense.
I prop myself on one elbow, using my free hand to grip his forearm for leverage. The muscles beneath my fingers flex with each thrust, tendons standing out in sharp relief. He's beautiful like this, all controlled power and focused intensity, and I can't look away.
"Touch yourself," he commands, voice rough.
Heat floods my face. "I—"
"Do it." His gaze locks with mine, dark and commanding. "Want to feel you come again."
My hand slides down my belly, trembling slightly, and when my fingers find the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves, I gasp. The sensation is almost too much combined with the stretch of him inside me, but I don't stop. Can't stop.
His eyes track the movement, watching with an intensity that makes me feel exposed and powerful all at once. "That's it," he murmurs. "Good girl."
The praise makes something inside me clench. I circle faster, chasing the sensation, and feel the pressure building again—impossibly fast, impossibly intense. He adjusts his angle, hitting that perfect spot inside with every thrust, and suddenly I'm there, teetering on the edge.
"Jason—"
"I know. I feel it." His grip on my hip tightens almost to the point of pain. "Come for me."
I do, the orgasm crashing over me like a wave, and this time he follows, finally letting go of that iron control. He buries himself deep, jaw clenched, a rough sound tearing from his throat as he pulses inside me.
We stay frozen like that, locked together, both of us shaking with the aftershocks. Then slowly, he pulls out and gathers me against his chest. My limbs feel like water, boneless and heavy, and I sag into him gratefully.
He shifts us again until we're lying on our sides, legs tangled, facing each other. His hand caressing my hip, my waist, my ribs, like he can't stop touching me even now.
"You okay?" His voice is hoarse, spent.
"More than okay." I press my forehead to his chest, feeling his heartbeat gradually slow beneath my cheek. "That was—"
"Yeah." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "It was."
We're warm and sated and tangled together in a way that feels both temporary and permanent all at once. The firelight flickers, casting moving shadows across the walls, and I watch them dance while my breathing slowly evens out.
Jason's hand slides up to cup the back of my neck, tilting my face up so he can look at me. His eyes are softer now, the sharp edges of hunger and possession mellowed into something deeper.
"Stay," he murmurs. Not quite a command, not quite a plea. Something in between.
I reach up and trace the line of his jaw, feeling the scratch of his beard against my palm. "I'm not going anywhere."
His arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer. We lie there in the warm bed, skin cooling slowly, hearts still beating in sync. The world beyond the cabin doesn't exist—not the storm, not my past, not the uncertainty of tomorrow.
There's only this moment, this man, this feeling of being wanted and safe and home.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, that feels like enough.
More than enough.
It feels like everything.