33. Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Lina
Before I can fully register the shift, he’s there—closing the distance, his mouth claiming mine with unmistakable intent.
The kiss isn’t rushed, but it’s hungry, crushing, like restraint snapping clean in half.
His tongue slides against mine with confidence, deep and unyielding, the kind of kiss that tells me he’s imagined this—more than once.
I melt into him instantly. My hands rise to his shoulders, fingers digging in as he pulls me closer, chest to chest, no hesitation left between us. This isn’t tentative. It’s want—clear, heavy, undeniable.
I pull back slightly enough to breathe, giggling, dizzy from the intensity of his touch. Alex stills, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes searching my face instead of assuming.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Was that too much?”
I nod, smiling, breathless. “I’ve been wanting you to kiss me all night.”
Something dark and satisfying flickers across his expression. His mouth curves.
“Good,” he murmurs.
He kisses me again—deeper this time.
He lifts me and settles me onto his lap, my legs instinctively bracketing his hips. Our mouths move together—kissing, nipping, smiling against each other—intimate, unguarded, needy.
His arms tighten around me, strong and sure, pulling me flush against him. I grind into him without thinking.
That’s the moment I feel him. Unmistakably aroused.
I push down deliberately, craving the pressure, the proof of how turned on he is.
He groans into my mouth.
His hands slide up my sides, warm palms skimming beneath my shirt, thumbs brushing skin. Mine tangling in his hair, tugging, grounding myself in the reality of him.
There’s no past here. No fear. No caution. Just this. Just us.
Alex pulls back slightly, breathing fast, hands firm at my waist.
“You’re so fucking hard to resist,” he says, restraint threaded through every word. “But I won’t go any further if you don’t want to. Not one step.”
For a heartbeat, all my old rules flicker through my mind. All the caution. All the fear.
I let them burn.
“Don’t stop,” I say, steady despite my racing pulse. “I want you.”
Something shifts in his eyes. Permission.
He lifts my shirt cautiously, thoughtfully, giving me time to change my mind—and lets it fall to the floor.
His hands still. His breath hitches once, unguarded. His gaze drops and stays there, dark and intent, like everything else in the room no longer exists. He regards me as if I’m precious and treacherous all at once—stunned yet starving.
There’s heat in his gaze, unmistakable, but beneath it is something softer. Awe. Want held carefully in check.
The attention makes my pulse quicken.
I’m exposed, yet desired—and instantly soaked.
My breasts grow heavy, my nipples confined beneath lace.
Alex lowers his mouth, kissing the tops of them, progressing downward—until he finds my nipple straining against my bra. He licks, nibbles, and draws one into his mouth through the fabric.
I arch outward, throwing my head back, offering myself without thought.
He pulls the strap down and devours me, mouth hot and greedy, sucking until I gasp.
The ache between my legs is overwhelming.
When he picks me up, it’s graceful—so easy it steals my breath. The moment his arms lock around me, my body goes still, instinctively trusting the strength holding me.
He carries me down the hall like it’s second nature—cradled against his chest, legs loose, my body fitting perfectly against his.
It’s such a small thing. But it’s everything.
I’m not heavy for him. He doesn’t shift or brace or hesitate. His arms stay steady, sure, holding me with controlled strength that appears deliberate—measured.
The ease of it sends a slow, dangerous heat rolling through me, pooling low in my belly.
Carried in this way—secure and unburdened—does something to me. It sharpens my desire. Bolsters my confidence.
I’m acutely aware of the size difference, of how easily his body accommodates mine without question.
My pulse quickens as he sets me gently on the bed, and I gaze up at everything he is.
Tall—long lines and contained power, torso stretched and strong, tipping into bulk.
He lifts his shirt over his head, and damn me to hell, he has an amazing body.
His abs are greatly defined—cut and deliberate—each muscle clearly mapped beneath smooth skin, like they were carved rather than trained into existence. Abs for fucking days.
And then the tattoos.
Dark ink winds up his arms, climbing higher—over his shoulders, across his collarbone. The patterns aren’t loud or ornamental. They belong to him rather than decorate him.
My eyes trace the lines instinctively—and that’s when I notice the scars. Faint. Small. A thin line here. A pale mark there. Nothing dramatic enough to demand an explanation. Nothing clear enough to assign a story to. Just evidence. History written into skin.
I don’t know where they came from, but I know this much—they weren’t born of softness.
They shouldn’t be sexy. But they are.
I bite my lower lip, craving every inch of him.
This is not a body meant to be admired. It exists to do things.
A sensation descends, heavy and hot.
His gaze never leaves mine.
The room seems smaller. Warmer. Charged with something that’s been coiling all evening, tightening with every breath.
He unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans fall to the floor, stepping out of them without breaking eye contact. Then he steps closer, bracing his hands on either side of me—close enough for his warmth to reach me, but still giving me space. Still giving me choice.
When he leans in, and his mouth finds mine again, it’s slower this time. And I know whatever happens next isn’t about impulse or escape. It’s about want.
And God, I want him.
That’s when I notice his erection, thick and unmistakable behind his briefs. My mouth opens on instinct—an unguarded, silent wow sends a fresh rush of heat between my thighs.
I lie back and start shimmying out of my shorts, with Alex helping me the remainder of the way. My legs are bruised and cut, marked by life—but he doesn’t look at them like that’s all he sees.
I’m left in black lace panties and my bra. My breasts spilling over, heavy and full with need.
He pulls me up to stand, kisses my neck softly, and unhooks my bra.
I hear the sound before I see his reaction bounce—a low, feral growl slipping from his throat as my breasts fall free. His breathing falters, his chest heaves, and I see him struggling to maintain composure.
“I don’t know how to be gentle, Lina,” he admits, restraint tight in his voice. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Don’t hold back with me,” I say, practically panting. “I don’t want you to be gentle.”
That’s all Alex needs.
He lifts me effortlessly, and suddenly I’m rising—higher than I expect—my breath catching as the world tilts. There’s no strain, no adjustment. Only strength with such certainty that it steals my sense of gravity.
I’m up high and leaning against the wall. My legs slide over his shoulders without effort, draping there. He holds me easily, hands firm at my hips, anchoring every inch of my weight. The awareness hits hard—how strong he is.
“Move your panties to the side, Lina,” Alex growls, voice thick. “I want to taste you. I need to.”
Before I can protest the position I’m in, I obey. My fingers shake as I shift the fabric aside, already soaked. His mouth is on me before I can swallow—hot, open, deliberate.
I cry out as his tongue slides through me, slow and unhurried, tasting everything. My hips jerk forward on instinct, pressing into his mouth, and he groans against me.
“Fuck, Lina,” he murmurs, lips brushing my skin. “You taste perfect.”
His tongue finds my clit. The sensation is immediate—hot and breathy. He sucks gently at first, then harder, watching my face as my body starts to shake. I fist my hands in his hair, tugging, panting, and moaning—unable to stay still.
“Fuck I love that sound,” he says, voice dark with satisfaction.
His mouth works me relentlessly—tongue circling, sucking, flicking—never losing rhythm. One hand leaves my hip to cup my breast, kneading it, thumb brushing my nipple until I gasp. His other hand rises to my mouth, fingers sliding up to my mouth.
I open without thinking.
I suck him in, tasting skin and salt, moaning around his fingers. He groans in response, the vibration sending another jolt through me as his mouth becomes more demanding—tongue relentless.
“That’s it. Keep moving for me, Lina,”
I rock against his face, needy and uncoordinated, pleasure building fast and fierce.
I’ve never felt so exposed but so alive.
Every breath, every tremor, supported by the certainty of his body beneath mine.
The pressure coils tighter.
“Oh God—I’m close,” I gasp.
He doesn’t slow. He doubles down—tongue firm, mouth sealing around my clit, sucking until the edge snaps.
My valve gives way, and the sensation rips through me with brutal force—overwhelming and incandescent. I surrender to it completely, head falling back against the wall as the pleasure crests and crashes through my body, carried by sensation instead of thought.
I’m spent yet somehow still charged. Drained—yet radiant.
Like a queen lifted high onto her throne, claimed not through force, but devotion. Elevated by the strength holding me there, by the certainty of his hands, by the metaphorical way he’s kneeling between my thighs as if this is where he belongs.
I’m not small in this moment.
I’m exalted. Worshiped.
Held aloft by desire that bows instead of takes.
He doesn’t let go until he feels it fully pass, until my legs tremble from exhaustion against his shoulders and my grip in his hair loosens.
Only then does he move me—carefully, reverently—carrying me to the bed and laying me back against the sheets.
My body hums, oversensitive, still pulsing with aftershocks.
Alex stands over me, already opening a wrapper with his teeth. He rolls the condom down his length, thick and hard, and I raise my head to look at him.
My breath stutters. He’s fucking perfect.
The sight alone makes heat flood back between my legs, even as a flicker of nerves tightens my chest. I wrap my hand around him, stroking the weight and warmth.
His groan is deep—wrecked.
He strips me down the remainder of the way, kissing every bruise, every scrape—until his mouth finds my C-section scar where he gently plants a kiss. The devotion of it steals my breath.
He’s between my thighs again, fingers sliding through my slick, circling my clit once before pressing inside me.
Even one finger feels full. Two makes me gasp.
By the time he lines himself up, I’m desperate—aching for him, begging without words.
He slides in, stretching me, the aching burn intoxicating.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel incredible.”
I whimper, clutching at him as he fills me inch by inch, until he’s buried deep and trembling with restraint.
“Don’t hold back,” I whisper. “I want all of you.”
And he doesn’t. He drives into me, hard.
The first thrust steals the breath from my lungs, deep and unrelenting, stretching me in a way that makes a cry tear loose before I manage to stop it. He sets a brutal rhythm, hips pushing forward, each stroke hitting deep enough to make my body jolt against the mattress.
“Oh God—Alex,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Not yet,” he growls, teeth grazing my jaw as he lifts one leg higher, spreading me wider. The angle changes everything. He goes deeper—so deep it makes my walls clamp around him, tight and unyielding.
The sensation borders on too much.
It hurts. Yet it feels so fucking good.
My body tightens around him instinctively, clenching, pulling him in, and he groans like the sound is torn from him against his will.
His thrusts turn relentless—measured, powerful, punishing in the way only controlled strength can be.
I’m right there. Right on the edge. The pressure in my core coils so tight it burns.
His hand slides up my throat.
His fingers wrap there deliberately, thumb pressing lightly beneath my jaw, holding me still—claiming the moment, the control, the reaction he pulls from me.
My breath stutters instantly, arousal spiking so sharply it makes my vision blur.
That’s all it takes.
My orgasm rips through me violently, no warning left, no restraint possible. My body convulses around him, walls clamping tight, every muscle locking as the release crashes through me in brutal, consuming waves.
I cry out—broken, wrecked—my body shuddering beneath him as he drives me through it.
“Fuck Lina,” he groans, losing his rhythm as I clench around him. His breath breaks, hips stuttering as his control snaps.
The orgasm hits deeper this time, heavier, rolling through me with a force that leaves me trembling and gasping, my body completely undone.
Alex follows with a strangled sound, thrusting further as he comes, every muscle in his body going taut as he empties himself inside the condom. The intensity of it steals what little strength I have left.
When the last tremor passes through him, we’re both shaking.
His hand slides up from my neck to my cheek where he gently thumbs at my face—holding me—until my breathing evens out. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, chest rising and falling.
For a long while, silence hangs between us.
Then he exhales a breathless laugh.
“Holy fuck.”
I smile weakly, still floating, still humming. “Yeah. Holy fuck.”
His expression shifts, concern cutting through the haze as his thumb brushes my cheek. “Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly. “Was that too much?”
“Yes,” I admit honestly, a soft laugh slipping out. “And also—no. It was perfect.”
Relief floods his face. He kisses my forehead, so sweetly my chest tighten.
We lie there together, breath slowing, reality easing back in piece by piece. The room feels different—softer, quieter—like something important clicked into place.
There’s a warmth in me now that lingers. Steady. Sated. Safe.