13. Celeste #3
I wrapped my arms around his neck and met his next stroke with my hips. His eyes flickered. I did it again, slower, letting my body pull him in instead of only receiving him. His mouth parted, but no words came out.
That made me smile.
Not wide.
Just enough for him to see it.
Josiah’s eyes narrowed. “What you smiling at?”
“You.”
His hips slowed. “Me?”
I clenched my walls around him on purpose.
Josiah stopped moving.
Completely.
His head dipped, and a groan tore out of him so deep I felt it before I heard it. His hand gripped my thigh, firm and hot, his fingers pressing into my skin as if he needed somewhere to put the shock of it.
“Damn, Celeste, baby.”
My stomach fluttered.
There was nothing polished about him in that second. Nothing perfectly controlled. His forehead pressed near mine, his breath rough, his chest rising hard against me. He looked down at me like I’d just pulled the floor from under him, and the power of that went straight through me.
I did that.
He felt me.
He liked it.
The smile came back before I could stop it.
Josiah’s voice rasped against my mouth. “I’m trying to take my time with you.”
I squeezed around him again, softer this time.
His eyes darkened.
“Celeste.”
My name came out like a warning, but his hips betrayed him.
He pressed deeper, slow and heavy, and my smirk dissolved into a gasp.
The bed shifted beneath us. His chain dragged against my skin.
His hand slid under my thigh and lifted me higher against him, changing the angle until the next stroke made my eyes close.
“There,” he growled. “Keep looking at me.”
I opened my eyes because his voice had put my body under instruction before my pride could object.
His jaw flexed.
“That’s where you feel me.”
“Yes.”
He moved again, and the sound I made warmed the space between our mouths.
His palm covered my breast, thumb stroking slow circles while his hips kept that same deep rhythm.
The pleasure started low, spreading through my stomach and down my thighs, but I kept watching him too.
Watching the way his lashes lowered when I tightened around him.
Watching his mouth fall open when I dragged my nails down his back.
Watching the sweat at his temple catch the morning light.
He wasn’t just giving.
He was receiving me too.
That made the moment feel fuller.
Realer.
I touched his face and brushed my thumb along his beard. “You feel good too.”
His expression shifted like the words had slipped under his ribs.
“Say that again,” he uttered.
“You feel good too.”
His groan came rougher this time. He kissed me hard, then softer, then pressed his forehead to mine while his hips rolled into me with more weight.
“That’s what I needed.”
My chest tightened.
I held his face between my hands, keeping him close while my body learned the rhythm.
His skin was hot beneath my palms. His breath moved over my lips.
The room smelled like him and us, clean sheets turning warm, citrus fading beneath sweat and need.
Somewhere above us, the air conditioner hummed, but all I could really hear was him breathing harder every time I met him back.
I clenched around him again.
His control slipped in a rough exhale.
“There you go. You know what you’re doing,” he murmured.
I didn’t.
Not completely.
But I knew what his face looked like when I made him feel good. I knew what his body did when I pulled him closer. I knew the groan that left him when I stopped hiding from my own pleasure and gave him mine with both hands.
So I kept going.
I lifted into him. Held him. Kissed his jaw when his head dropped.
Let my hands move over the muscles in his back, his shoulders, his arms. Gave him my mouth when he reached for it.
Gave him my eyes when he demanded them without begging.
Gave him the truth of my body tightening around him because he’d made me feel safe enough to want without apologizing for it.
His hand tightened at my hip.
“Red.”
The name came out rough enough to make my pulse jump.
“Yes?”
“You keep doing that, and slow is going to get real difficult.”
I smiled against his mouth.
“Good.”
His eyes flashed.
Then he moved deeper, and that one word got swallowed by the sound he pulled out of me.
His rhythm stayed slow, but it carried weight now.
Purpose. Confidence. That steady I’ve got you energy that made my body trust him, even when the pleasure started rising too fast. He kissed my jaw, my neck, the corner of my mouth.
His hand returned to my breast, massaging me while his hips moved in a way that made sound climb out of me with nowhere to hide.
“That’s it, love.”
He groaned and kissed me hard enough to make my thoughts scatter, then softened it before I could lose myself completely.
“That’s what I needed,” he uttered against my lips.
My chest tightened.
He kept moving, and I kept meeting him, learning the rhythm with him instead of letting him carry the whole moment alone.
His body gave. Mine answered. His breath broke.
Mine followed. Every place he touched woke under his hands, but every sound he made woke something in me too.
I wanted his control. I wanted his tenderness.
I wanted the low, helpless sound he made when I tightened around him and smiled like I knew exactly what I’d done.
His mouth brushed mine. “You playing dangerous now.”
“No.” I slid my hands into his braids and held him close. “I’m learning you.”
His eyes softened and burned at the same time.
Then he moved again, deeper, and the smirk slipped right off my face.
“There she is,” he coaxed. I clung to him. “You can be bold, baby. I still got you.”
My breath caught.
He gave me another slow stroke, and my body tightened around him without trying this time.
“That’s it. Let me feel you.”
Pleasure gathered low, spreading through my hips, my stomach, my thighs, everywhere his hands had been.
He kept his mouth near mine, catching the sounds as they came, not silencing them, just staying close enough to receive them.
The room held the heat of us, the scent of him, the damp slide of skin, the scrape of his beard, the faint taste of mint and salt on my tongue.
His hand moved over my hip, firm and sure.
“I’m not coming up off you, Celeste. Not after this. Not after you trusted me like this.”
My eyes burned.
His mouth softened against mine.
“I’m going to cherish you.”
“I hear you,” I whispered.
“Good.”
His hips rolled into mine again, slow and devastating, and the pleasure rose sharp enough to take my breath. This time, I didn’t turn away from it. I held onto him, looked at him, and let him see what he was doing to me.
The pleasure gathered low, spreading through me in waves that made my hands search for something to hold. I found him. His shoulders. His back. The braids brushing my cheek when he lowered his head. The steady heat of him covering me without consuming me.
I felt myself falling. Not just into pleasure. Into him.
His voice followed me there, his commands falling in a low, rhythmic chant.
“That’s it, love.”
“Don’t hide from it.”
“Let me feel you.”
“Beautiful.”
Josiah caught my chin gently and brought my face back to his.
“No. Stay with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“It’s too much.”
His mouth brushed mine. “I know. Let it be too much with me.”
My eyes filled. “Josiah.”
“I’m right here.”
He moved again, and everything in me gave way. Pleasure broke through my body with a force that stole the air from my lungs. I cried out against his mouth, hands gripping him, thighs tightening around his waist while he held me through every wave.
He didn’t rush me through it. He stayed there, kissing me, holding me, talking me back into my body.
“That’s it.”
“I’ve got you.”
“Let it go for me, baby.”
“You’re safe.”
I let go until I didn’t know where fear ended and release began.
Only then did his control finally fracture.
His rhythm changed, deeper and less restrained, still careful but no longer hiding the hunger in him.
He buried his face against my neck, whispered my name like it had become need and surrender in the same breath, and followed me over with a shudder that moved through his whole body.
His arm tightened around me, protective even in release, and for several long breaths, we stayed there with our hearts pounding against each other while morning spread slowly across the room.
He didn’t collapse on me.
Even then, he held his weight.
That made me emotional in a way I couldn’t explain.
He kissed my shoulder. “You with me?”
“I’m with you.”
His gaze softened. “Good?”
“Very good.”
His smile came, slow and relieved.
Then I ruined it by tearing up.
His face changed immediately. “Talk to me.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sad.” He searched my eyes. “I’m not,” I promised.
“What is it?”
I swallowed around the ache in my throat. “I forgot it could feel like that.”
His expression softened.
“Not just the sex,” I whispered. “Being held. Being checked on. Being wanted without feeling swallowed whole. Being touched like somebody was listening.”
“I was listening,” he said before kissing my palm.
“I know.”
He eased away carefully, then pressed a kiss to my forehead before standing. “I’ll be right back.”
I watched him disappear into the bathroom with the lazy, boneless disbelief of a woman who’d just been thoroughly loved and was still trying to remember her own name.
The sheets were tangled around my hips. My sweater was somewhere on the floor.
My body felt warm, tender, and open in more places than one.
When Josiah returned, he had a warm washcloth and the same steady face that had made me trust him before my desire ever got brave.
He sat beside me. “Let me take care of you.”
I nodded.