Ten Out of Ten, Would Rebound Again
Dawson
Iwas perched on Dawson’s lap, knees gripping his hips, my palms splayed on his shoulders for balance.
The moment I sank down onto him, a silent gasp burned in my lungs, my body stretched and heated, shaken by the fullness of him.
My pulse drummed so fast I was certain he could hear it, the way my whole body reacted—clenching, spasming, opening to him—making it impossible to hide just how much I missed this, missed him, missed us.
I pressed my forehead into the angle of his neck and shoulder, just breathing, letting my body remember every inch of him, the scent and heat and unyielding strength of Dawson Lockhart.
I don’t know if it was all the letters I’d read, or if it was something more primal, older than words and heartache and regret, but as I rocked against him, my skin felt raw and electric.
I was stripped open, past the point of unforgiveness or pride.
It wasn’t just the sex, even though every nerve in my body was sparking with it.
It was every memory and every hope and every longing I’d ever tried to ignore, all crashing together in the space of his arms.
He let me set the pace, let me move how I wanted, but his hands never left me—one arm wrapped around my waist so securely it was as if he was anchoring me to this moment, the other tracing up my spine, cupping the back of my neck, his fingers buried in my hair.
My body was tingling, every movement rippling with pleasure, but it was his eyes that made me unravel.
He held my gaze, his pupils blown wide, lips parted, jaw tight with restraint.
The look on his face—awed, worshipping, almost anguished—made me want to cry.
The rhythm built between us, slow at first, but deep, and every time I pushed down onto him, he pushed up into me, stretching me, filling me, until pleasure started to crest and I forgot to breathe.
I moved faster, chasing that sharp, perfect edge, and he met me thrust for thrust, his hands guiding me, shaping my body to his.
He found the sensitive spot between us, rubbing in time with every rise and fall, his thumb slick and sure.
My body arched into it, overwhelmed, and I came so quickly it startled me, a sharp, sweet, shuddering rush that made my vision blur.
He didn’t stop. He kept moving, holding me through it, coaxing more and more from me until I was shaking, limp, draped over him like I’d lost all sense of gravity.
But even then, I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to stay pressed against him, to feel him inside me, to keep reliving every flash of memory that this, this was what I’d been missing for years.
Dawson shifted, one hand gripping my hip while the other slid up to cradle my jaw, tilting my face up to his.
He kissed me hard, hungry, desperate, like he was dying of thirst and I was water.
I tasted myself on his mouth, tasted salt and skin, the heat of his breath.
Our foreheads touched, his nose nudging mine, and I felt the stubble of his beard scrape my skin.
He moved me on him, up and down, slow and deep, and the sensation was almost too much—aftershocks of pleasure sparking along my spine, my nipples brushing against his chest, every nerve ending lit up.
The sound of our bodies was obscene, slick and gasping, but it made me want him even more.
I fisted my fingers in his hair, pulling at the roots, and he groaned, the sound so raw it gave me goosebumps.
He was so big, so strong, but he held onto me like I was breakable, precious.
When he started to lose control, his rhythm stuttered, his hips bucked harder, and his body trembled under mine.
I could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding back, afraid to hurt me, afraid to let go.
But I wanted him to. I wanted him to take everything he needed from me, my body, my heart, my forgiveness.
I whispered his name, “Dawson. Fuck, Dawson,” and he moaned, then pressed his face into my shoulder, his breath hot on my skin.
His mouth was at my ear, and it felt like he could swallow my every thought. I lost myself in the rasp of his voice, the words coming low and reverent, sometimes rough. “God, Sadie, you feel so fucking good,” and “I missed you, missed this, missed us.”
My breath came in shallow pants, my body thrumming in time with the way he moved beneath me.
Every time I ground down, Dawson met me with a slow, deliberate push, his hands clutching my hips, guiding, steady, as if we had all the time in the world.
The weight and width of him inside me was almost too much, but the way he held me softened every sharp edge, melting the pain into a hot, desperate hunger.
My head spun with it, his scent, the taste of his skin, the feral look in his eyes as he watched my every reaction, like he was memorizing how to break me open.
I tried to meet his gaze, but it was too much, and I had to look away, pressing my forehead into his neck, letting my hair curtain around me.
He rocked into me, slow at first, but gradually built a rhythm that made my thighs tremble.
The air around us was fever-bright, every nerve ending tingling.
I never wanted to be anywhere else again.
As the pressure of pleasure built inside of me as my body drove towards a release, he slid his hand between us, thumb finding that exact spot just above where we were joined, and when he pressed and circled there, I shattered.
My orgasm hit me out of nowhere, sharp and fast, making my whole body arch and clamp down on him, stars bursting behind my eyelids.
I tried to stifle the sound, but he caught it with his mouth, swallowing my whimpers and answering them with a low groan that vibrated all the way through me.
But he didn’t let up. His thumb kept working, his hips kept moving, and I felt another wave building before I’d even started to come down.
The bliss was relentless, impossible. I clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, sobbing out his name as I rode the aftershock after aftershock, each one crashing through me, leaving my muscles wrung out and boneless.
He held me through every full-body tremor, never letting me drift away. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick with awe. “Good girl, come for me. I’ve got you.” Those words undid me more than anything else. I had never felt so safe, so completely unguarded, in my entire life.
Finally, when my breathing slowed, he shifted us so I was lying flat on my back, his weight braced above me.
He slid out, only to slip back inside with a fluid, practiced motion.
The angle was different now, deeper, and I gasped at the way it changed everything.
He started to move—a steady, determined rhythm that had my sex clenching and fluttering all over again.
My legs wrapped around his waist, my ankles crossing at his lower back, anything to keep him close. My hands found his biceps, his shoulders, the hard line of his jaw. I wanted to touch all of him, to remember every inch I’d missed.
He pushed into me, faster now, and the couch creaked under our weight.
I dragged my nails down his back, leaving marks that would last, and he moaned into my mouth, kissing me like he couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second.
Every thrust sent tiny explosions bursting through my core, and I could feel another climax coiling inside me, slow and inevitable.
He sensed it, too, the way my inner walls tightened around him, the way my breath hitched and my hips tilted to meet his every move.
He drove into me harder, sweat slicking our bodies, his fingertips digging into my thighs and hauling them even higher around his waist.
But I couldn’t get close enough. I wanted him deeper, wanted him everywhere.
I could tell he felt it, the wild frustration in me, the hunger that wouldn’t be satisfied.
He paused, just for a second, his eyes meeting mine with something like a challenge.
Then, without warning, he flipped me, strong hands grasping my hips, turning me onto my stomach in one seamless motion.
My heart nearly stopped from the thrill of it—I’d always loved when he took me that way, and my whole body lit up with anticipation.
I felt him behind me, his chest blanketing my back, his erection pressed against the curve of my ass.
He brushed my hair off my neck, planting a slow, tender kiss just below my ear, then trailed his mouth down over my shoulders, along my spine, all the way to the small of my back.
I buried my face on the throw pillow, shuddering under the heat of him, the way his rough stubble rasped against my skin.
He kneaded my ass cheeks, spreading me open, and it was so dirty, so vulnerable, that I almost told him to stop.
But the look in his eyes when I glanced back—hungry, worshipful, utterly in awe—made me melt.
He bent down and kissed the swell of my ass, then nipped at it, then licked, the hot slide of his tongue making me gasp.
It was filthy and perfect. He kept going, licking lower until his mouth was on my most private spot, the place no one else had ever even touched.
I jerked in shock, but he only pressed his arm tighter around my waist, pinning me down, licking and stroking and driving me out of my mind.
My pussy clenched so hard it hurt, my arousal dripping down my thighs, and his fingers found my clit again, circling and pressing in time with his tongue.
I lost all sense of the world. All I could feel was him, his mouth, his hands, the rigid length of his cock rutting against my body.
I started to shake, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, but I couldn’t say no, couldn’t slow down, didn’t want to.