Chapter 9 - Hannah #2
"Not stopping." His fingers curl again, and his mouth closes around my clit, sucking hard.
My whole body arches off the bed, thighs trembling, a sound ripping from my throat that's half scream, half sob.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves, each one more intense than the last, and Griffin doesn't stop, doesn't let up, working me through it until I'm boneless, shaking and completely spent.
When I finally come down, he's pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs, my hipbones, and my stomach. Working his way back up my body until he's hovering over me, his face glistening with evidence of what he just did.
"Holy shit," I breathe.
He grins. "Good?"
"Understatement of the century."
He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his tongue, which should be weird but somehow isn't. His cock is pressed against my thigh, still hard, still throbbing, and I reach down between us to wrap my hand around it.
He groans into my mouth. "Hannah…"
"I want you inside me," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "I want this."
He pulls back to look at me, searching my face. "You're sure? We can stop here. You don't have to—"
"I'm sure." I stroke him slowly, feeling the weight and heat of him in my palm. "I need this as much as you do."
"I'm not sure that's true," he says roughly, but he's already positioning himself between my legs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
He pushes in slowly, just the tip, and the pain is immediate. I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Breathe," he says, holding still. "Just breathe."
I do, forcing myself to relax, and he slides in another inch.
Then another. I'm so wet from his mouth and fingers that he glides in easier than I expected, but the fullness is overwhelming.
I've never felt anything like this. Never felt this filled, this stretched, this utterly consumed by another person.
"Fuck," I breathe. "You're so—it's so—"
"I know." He's trembling with the effort of holding still, muscles taut under my hands. "You're doing so good. Taking me so well."
He pushes in the rest of the way in one slow, steady thrust, and suddenly he's fully inside me, buried to the hilt. I can feel him everywhere. So deep I can barely breathe, so thick I feel like I can't move without feeling the drag of him against my walls.
"Okay?" he asks, voice strained.
"Yes," I manage. "Just give me a second."
He holds still, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, can feel the tension in every line of his body as he waits for me to be ready.
Slowly, the discomfort fades, replaced by something else. Need. Want. The overwhelming urge to feel him move.
"Okay," I say. "You can move."
He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The bed creaks under us, a sound that matches the pace he sets—steady, giving me time to feel every inch of him.
It's incredible. The stretch and fullness, the way his body covers mine completely. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle, and we both groan at the sensation.
"Fuck, Hannah," he grits out. "You feel so good. So fucking tight."
I don't have words. Can't form coherent thoughts beyond *more* and *yes* and *please don't stop*.
My nails drag across his back, leaving marks I'm sure, but I can't help it.
I need something to hold onto, some way to ground myself in the overwhelming sensation of being fucked by this massive, scarred man who's somehow become the most important person in my world in less than forty-eight hours.
He's right on top of me, water and sweat dripping from his hair onto my chest and cheeks, his breath hot against my neck. The firelight plays across his skin, highlighting every muscle, every scar, every perfect imperfection.
"More," I gasp. "Griffin, please more!"
He growls and his pace increases. Harder now, faster, the bed protesting loudly with every thrust. The headboard slams against the wall, and somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder if the whole structure is going to collapse under us, but I don't care.
All I care about is the feeling of him inside me, the pressure building again low in my belly, the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
"Like this?" he asks, punctuating the question with a particularly hard thrust that makes me cry out.
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
The bed is creaking so loudly now it sounds like it's seconds away from breaking, and Griffin must think the same thing because suddenly he's stopping, pulling out, and I make a sound of protest.
"Don't worry," he says, his hands gripping my hips. "Just changing positions."
He pulls me up off the bed and then, oh God, he's lifting me completely off the mattress, his hands under my ass, supporting me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist, and then he's lowering me onto his cock, gravity and his strength driving him deeper than before.
I cry out, clinging to his shoulders, and he starts moving. Lifting me up and down on his cock, using me, fucking me in the air, and it's the most intense thing I've ever experienced. Every thrust hits deeper, harder, the angle perfect, and I can do nothing but hold on and take it.
"Griffin—oh my God—I can't—"
"You can," he says roughly. "You're doing perfect. Taking my cock so well. Look at you."
I bury my face against his neck, overwhelmed by sensation, by the feeling of being completely at his mercy, completely filled, completely his in this moment.
His muscles flex under my hands with every movement, his breathing harsh and ragged in my ear, and I can feel myself climbing toward another orgasm, faster and harder than the first.
"I'm going to—" I gasp. "Griffin, I'm—"
"Come for me," he commands.
I scream, my whole body convulsing in his arms, clenching around his cock in waves of pleasure. He keeps moving, keeps fucking me through it, prolonging every second until I'm sobbing against his shoulder, completely undone.
"Fuck," he groans, his pace becoming erratic. "Hannah… I'm close. I need to—"
"Inside," I gasp without thinking. "Come inside me."
He makes a sound that's almost pained, and then he's coming, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me with his white sticky liquid. His whole body goes rigid, muscles locked, and he buries his face against my neck as he empties himself inside me with a groan that I feel in my bones.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us trembling, breathing hard, his cock still inside me as we come down from the high. Then, slowly, he lowers us both back onto the bed, settling me on the mattress without pulling out.
He hovers over me, his weight braced on his forearms and looks down at me with a smile.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod, unable to form words yet.
"Not too much?"
"Perfect," I finally manage. "It was perfect."
Something in his expression softens, and he leans down to kiss me, gentle this time, tender, so different from the raw intensity of moments before.
When he finally pulls out, we both wince at the sensitivity. He rolls to the side, pulling me with him, tucking me against his chest with one arm wrapped around my waist.
We lie there in the firelight, both of us still catching our breath, and I realize I've never felt safer in my life than I do right now, naked and sated in the arms of a man I barely know.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Stop thanking me," he says, but there's no heat in it.
"Never."
He huffs something that might be a laugh and pulls me closer. And for the first time in three weeks, maybe for the first time in years, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.