39. Aeryn #3
The initial penetration is slow, controlled by me.
The head of his cock pushes inside, stretching me, filling me with a blunt, delicious pressure.
I gasp, sinking further, feeling him open me inch by inch.
He’s big, and the stretch is intense, a bright, almost painful pleasure that melts instantly into pure need.
He lets me set the pace, his hands settling on my hips, his thumbs digging into my flesh.
When I’m fully seated, taking him completely, we both pause. He’s buried inside me, and the feeling is overwhelming, a fullness that steals my breath. His eyes are closed, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Move,” he commands softly.
I do. I rock forward, then back, finding a rhythm.
The friction is exquisite, each stroke dragging his cock through my sensitive inner walls.
Pleasure builds fast, coiling tight and hot.
My moans come unbidden, soft and continuous.
His hands guide my hips now, adding force to my movements, driving him deeper on each downward stroke.
“Yes,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval. “Just like that. Take what you need.”
I lean forward, bracing my hands on his shoulders, and change the angle. This lets him hit a deeper spot, a place that makes my vision blur. A sharp, choked cry escapes me. His eyes open, watching my face with fierce satisfaction.
“There?” he asks.
I nod, unable to speak.
He takes over then. His hands tighten on my hips, and he begins to thrust upward into me, matching my movements with powerful, controlled lifts of his own body.
The pace quickens. The sound of our joining grows wetter, louder.
The cold air is forgotten; heat radiates from our skin.
Sweat gleams on his chest. My hair falls around my face.
His thrusts become harder, deeper. Each one jolts through me, driving pleasure higher. I’m panting, my nails digging into his shoulders. He grunts with each upward drive, the sound raw and masculine.
“Look at me,” he says.
I force my eyes open. His gaze is locked on mine, possessive, unwavering. “I love you,” he says, the words clear and deliberate, stripped of all armor.
The confession hits me hard, melting the last barrier inside me. Tears well, but they’re not from sadness. From relief. From a truth I’ve felt but feared.
“I love you,” I answer, the words trembling out.
He kisses me then, a hard, consuming kiss as his hips piston into me relentlessly. The combined intensity of his words and his body pushes me toward the edge. Pleasure tightens, a coiled spring ready to snap.
“Come for me,” he growls against my mouth. “Let me feel it.”
His hand slides from my hip to between my legs, his thumb finding my clit. He presses there, circling firmly, and the added stimulation is too much. The coil snaps.
Orgasm crashes over me, a wave of blinding, shuddering release. My body convulses around him, my inner muscles clamping tight on his cock. I cry out, the sound lost against his shoulder. He holds me through it, his thrusts becoming shorter, sharper, driving into the tight pulse of my climax.
As my peak subsides, he continues moving, his own control fraying. His breaths turn ragged, his movements more frantic. He’s chasing his own finish now. I cling to him, my body still buzzing, and whisper against his ear, “Inside me. Give it to me.”
A harsh groan tears from him. His hips surge upward one final, deep time, and he stiffens, his cock pulsing deep within me as he releases.
Heat floods my core, his seed spilling inside me.
He holds me tightly against him, his face buried in my neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
For a long moment, we stay like that, connected, breathing heavily into the cold night. His cock softens slowly inside me. His arms remain wrapped around me, holding me close. The wind whispers over our heated skin.
Finally, he shifts, easing me gently off him. I settle beside him on the stone, leaning against his shoulder. He pulls the discarded cloak around us both, wrapping us in its warmth and the scent of us, sex, sweat, skin.
His expression is softened in a way I’ve never seen. “Just us. Always us,” he says quietly.
“Always us,” I agree.
Later, the ridge falls quiet around us.
The fires below burn lower now, scattered gold across the dark valley while distant movement carries faintly through the night air.
I rest against Vaedros’s chest beneath the heavy cloak wrapped around both of us, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat while his fingers move absently along my back.
Neither of us speaks for a while. For once, silence feels easy.
Eventually he presses a kiss against my hair and says, “You know this changes nothing strategically.”
I smile against his shoulder. “That might be the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I’m trying to maintain standards.”
“You don’t have any standards.”
“That’s unfair. I have excellent standards. You simply violate most of them.”
I laugh softly, and his arms tighten briefly around me at the sound.
The warmth of him, the steady weight of his hand against my waist, the absence of fear sitting beneath any of it, it feels dangerously close to peace.
Not permanent. Nothing ever is. But real. I allow myself to want what comes after survival.