2. Cade #3
I fuck her like I’ve been dying to since the moment I saw her—deep, punishing strokes that shove the air from her lungs and make those heavy, freckled tits bounce with every savage drive of my hips. Her nipples are tight, flushed dark pink, begging for a mouth I can’t spare right now.
She takes every inch. Arches hard into me, hips rising to meet my thrusts, greedy and desperate. Her thighs tremble around my waist, slick with sweat and her own cream.
Freckles dance across the flushed swell of her breasts as they jolt with the force of it. I can smell us—thick, musky sex and salt and the faint coconut sweetness of her skin.
“Cade—”
My name rips out of her again, louder, fractured, like she’s coming apart at the seams. The sound detonates something primal in me.
I slide a hand between our pounding bodies, fingers finding her swollen clit—slippery, pulsing. I circle it roughly, then press down hard. Her entire body seizes.
Her pussy clamps down on my cock like a velvet fist, rippling, milking, fluttering so violently I nearly black out. She comes with a shattered gasp, shaking uncontrollably beneath me, nails raking bloody lines down my back as her walls spasm and gush around my thickness.
The sensation rips me over the edge with her.
I thrust to the hilt and hold, buried so deep I feel the mouth of her cervix against my cockhead.
My orgasm detonates—white-hot, blinding.
Vision whites out. I come so hard my balls ache with it, pulsing thick ropes of come straight into her spasming heat.
Jet after jet, filling her until I can feel it leaking out around my shaft, slick and warm, coating her thighs and my pelvis.
When the last shudder wrings me dry, I collapse sideways, rolling so I don’t crush her smaller frame. I haul her against my chest immediately, one heavy arm locked around her back, the other cupping the back of her head.
She’s trembling violently, breath sawing in and out like she’s been running for miles.
Sweat plasters strands of that fiery hair to her forehead and temples.
I brush them back with careful fingers, the strands damp and silky against my calluses, then press my lips to her temple.
The taste of her skin—salt, sex, something sweet and uniquely Nora—floods my tongue.
Her hand curls against my chest, right over the tattoo on my left pec, fingers twitching as aftershocks ripple through her. She makes a small, broken sound and shifts closer, seeking my heat, my solidity. I feel her heartbeat hammering against my ribs, frantic and alive.
Silence settles between us, soft and warm and heavy with everything we just did. The ocean breathes beyond the glass walls, steady and eternal. Her breathing gradually slows, evens out into something peaceful. The scent of us lingers—thick, intimate, undeniable.
“Hi,” she whispers, voice hoarse and shy, like we really had just bumped into each other somewhere ordinary instead of me just ruining her for anyone else.
I almost laugh, the sound rumbling low in my chest. Two minutes ago I was balls-deep inside her, and now she’s murmuring greetings like this is a damn coffee shop. The contrast is absurd. Perfect. Mine.
“Hi,” I answer, the word slow and rough, just like the drag of my fingers down her spine.
Her lips curve into the smallest, sweetest smile. She shifts again, burrowing deeper into my side, one leg sliding over mine, her pussy still slick and leaking my come against my thigh. Her eyes drift closed, lashes casting faint shadows on her freckled cheeks.
I watch her fall asleep in my arms. Track every tiny detail—the way the tension melts from her brow, how her full mouth softens, how her hand goes heavy and slack against my heart. Her breathing deepens into the slow, rhythmic pull of true rest.
A single freckle rests at the corner of her mouth, one I somehow missed until now. It looks like it was placed there just for me to notice in this exact moment.
I reach down, pull the crumpled sheet up over our tangled bodies, tucking it carefully around her bare shoulders. She doesn’t wake. Just makes another tiny, contented sound and presses even closer, her soft breasts molding to my side, her thigh tightening over mine.
I lean down and kiss her forehead again, lingering this time. Her skin is fever-warm, velvet-soft. She smells like sex and ocean breeze and that lighter, indefinable sweetness that’s purely her—something that settles deep in my chest and locks into place.
I look at her. Really look. Red hair a wild, tangled halo on my pillow. Freckles scattered everywhere I can see. Lips still swollen and flushed from my mouth, from my kisses, from the way she bit them raw while I fucked her.
Sheet pulled up to her chin now, but I can still feel the sticky evidence of what we did coating us both. She sleeps in my bed like she was always meant to be here.
Like she belongs to me.
And the thought doesn’t scare me. It feels like the only truth that’s ever mattered.
Jesus. I've never seen a more beautiful woman than her.