Chapter 19 #2
I waited, using every ounce of control not to rock my hips or lose myself in how fucking good it felt being buried in him. When he nodded, just a small motion, I started to move, barely an inch. “Okay?”
He nodded, exhaled. “It burns, but… please, don’t stop.”
I eased in a fraction more, then stilled to let him get used to it. “You’re so tight,” I muttered, not even meaning to say it aloud. It was true—he gripped me like a vice, heat and pressure so intense, I had to grit my teeth not to lose it. “So goddamn tight. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Maybe I should’ve eased up on the dirty talk, but from the look on Eddie’s face, he liked it—a flush high on his cheekbones, lips parted, making urgent little noises every time I inched forward.
I let my hand find his, laced our fingers tight, and kept my gaze on him, letting him know I was there with him for every flutter, every shiver.
Eddie whimpered with an almost animal sound, but more desperate than pained.
He stared up at the ceiling, then at me, and the vulnerability in his eyes near took me out at the knees.
I leaned in to brush my lips against his forehead, reflexively gentle, not sure if the comfort was more for him or for me. Maybe it didn’t matter.
“You’re doing so well,” I whispered, and he actually laughed, a sweaty, gasping huff.
“You say that like I’m running a marathon.”
“In a way, you are.” I grinned, and with the tiniest withdrawal, pressed in deeper, letting my body tell me how much he could take.
He was trembling all over, but not retreating, not flinching away.
Every little bit I gave him, he met with a stubborn sort of courage I’d never seen outside a battlefield.
After a minute, the tightness eased, replaced with a slow, rolling heat that seemed to radiate through both of us.
The burn in my thighs was nothing compared to the coiling tension everywhere else.
I wanted to lose myself, to pound into him until the edges of reality blurred away, but I held back, making myself go careful, deliberate.
The pinched look of discomfort on his face ebbed, replaced by something softer, eyes shining and lips curled up at the corners. “You can move.”
So I moved, gentle at first, still half-afraid of hurting him. But the resistance was gone, and it was easier than I expected, more natural, and suddenly, his legs were wrapped around me, heels pressed to my ass, pulling me deeper.
I nearly groaned at the sensation. He was unbelievably tight, and the heat of him, the slide and squeeze, made it hard to focus on anything but how good it felt. He clung to me, breathing ragged, and I realized he’d buried his face in my neck.
Stroking his hair, I still moved slowly, and he made a sound that was half-whimper, half-plea for more.
I didn’t need him to use words. All I needed to do was listen to his body, the way his hips rolled up, the frantic pulse beating at his throat.
I set a rhythm for us, and it was nothing like what I’d learned from women, nothing like the memories I had of clumsy, too-fast drunken hookups with girls.
This was new, and holy hell, was it hotter than anything I’d ever imagined.
I found the spot again—his prostate, the goddamn magic button—and this time, I hit it on purpose. His whole body jerked like I’d set off an electrical current, and he was clutching my biceps, nails digging in, shaking with need.
“There?”
“Yes. Oh bloody hell…”
He started rocking with me, searching blindly for more.
I’d never seen anything like it, the way he responded, like he’d been wired for this his whole life and now someone had finally flipped the switch.
His cock was trapped between us, leaking and flushed, forgotten for the time being in favor of being filled.
The thought made my vision blur for a second.
I wrapped my arms around him, the need to hold him overwhelming. He was all sweat and skin and need, pressed so close, I thought we’d fuse together.
“Eddie,” I breathed into his hair, and he shuddered, arms tightening around my shoulders.
He was shaking, not from cold or fear, but from effort—the muscles in his legs flexing against my hips, his hands clawing at my back, desperate for more friction, more connection. I wanted nothing more than to give it to him.
“Bash,” he whispered, and the way he said my name—so open, so raw—wrecked me. I thrust again, and this time, he arched up to meet me, matching me stroke for stroke. I found a rhythm, slow but deep, and let myself be swept away, drowning in him, in us, in what we were making together.
His face was flushed, mouth open, his eyes locked on mine. They were determined, needy, and so goddamn beautiful, I felt a pang in the center of my chest, like an old wound splitting open, letting all the feeling pour out.
His head fell back, exposing the long line of his throat, and I kissed my way down the column, tasting sweat and salt and something uniquely Eddie. He moaned, a high, desperate sound, and rocked into me harder, greedy for every inch I could give him.
Eventually, I picked up the pace. I watched his face the whole time, not wanting to miss even one micro-expression.
He started to push back in time with my rhythm, bracing himself on the bed with the arm not clamped in my grip.
I found a motion that hit that spot inside him and didn’t let up; after only a few minutes, he was a mess, moaning my name, sweat matting his hair to his forehead, teeth biting down on his parted lower lip.
I reached for his cock, already hard and leaking, and stroked along the length in time with my thrusts. He cried out, eyes squeezing shut, and I felt his thighs clamp in tighter around me as I kept fucking him.
He was so close, I could feel the heat and tension building in him, every muscle bracing for the inevitable.
I locked my eyes on his face, barely able to blink, not wanting to miss whatever came next.
My own body was right at the edge too, pleasure spiraling up so fast I was half-afraid I’d lose control.
He started to break first. Two thrusts later, fingers locked so tight in my hair, it almost hurt, he threw his head back.
He came hard, a hoarse sound torn out of him that echoed off the cheap motel walls.
I kept stroking him through it, not letting up, and the way his body locked and convulsed around me was goddamn transcendent.
The sight of him—eyes rolled back, mouth open in stunned disbelief, his whole body blinking between pain and bliss—was enough to push me over.
I lost it, hips stuttering out of instinct, pace growing frantic, all the while anchored by his arms around my neck.
I barely choked out his name before I followed, pressing in as deep as I could go, the sensation so intense, I saw sparks behind my eyelids.
For a handful of seconds, the only sound in the room was our breathing, ragged and synced up, sweat cooling on our skin.
I collapsed forward, only catching myself with an elbow before I crushed Eddie beneath me.
He was limp, boneless as a ragdoll, and even now he wouldn’t let go of me, arms wrapped around my back like if he just held tight enough, this moment wouldn’t end.
God, I wished.
How I wished we could stay like this forever.