Chapter 20
Amber
The soft patter of rain against the Copenhagen window is the first thing I hear when I wake. The second is the slow, steady beat of Bas’s heart under my ear.
We’ve been wrapped in this cocoon for hours, his arm around my waist, his palm warm against my stomach. It’s the safest I’ve felt in years—maybe ever.
I shift slightly, and his arm tightens, a soft rumble vibrating through his chest. “Amber…” His voice is thick with sleep, rough and low, and it slides over my skin like heat.
I tilt my head back. His blue eyes are half-lidded, his hair messy, stubble shadowing his jaw. He looks like every secret daydream I’ve ever had about him.
“You’re too damn pretty in the morning,” he murmurs, sliding his hand under my shirt. His palm is hot against my skin, and I shiver.
“Bas…” My voice is barely a whisper.
He kisses me slowly, tasting and unhurried, but when my hand slides up into his hair, he groans and deepens it. His hand cups my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until it tightens, and a whimper slips out before I can stop it.
“Liefje,” he rasps against my mouth, “I need to taste you.”
Heat pools low in my belly at the hunger in his voice. I can only nod.
He pulls my shirt over my head and trails kisses down my chest, sucking my nipple into his mouth before letting it go with a wet sound that makes me moan. His lips trace a path down my stomach, and then he eases my shorts off, his big hands sliding down my thighs like he’s claiming every inch.
“Jesus, look at you,” he mutters, his voice rough and reverent all at once. “So wet already. Fuck, I could eat you all day.”
The words alone make my body pulse—no one’s ever spoken to me like this before, it’s fucking hot—and when his mouth finally meets me, I arch off the bed with a gasp. His tongue is slow and purposeful, teasing circles that make me whimper.
“That’s it, baby,” he groans against me, the vibration shooting through me. “Ride my tongue. Let me hear you.”
I clutch his hair, helpless as the pleasure builds, wave after wave, until I’m shaking. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and the sensation tips me over the edge.
“Bas—oh, fuck—” My voice cracks as my orgasm crashes over me, my whole body tightening around his fingers, my pulse roaring in my ears.
He doesn’t stop, licking me through the aftershocks until I’m trembling. When he finally comes up to kiss me, I taste myself on his lips, and it’s the filthiest, most intimate thing I’ve ever felt.
He flips me onto my stomach with gentle strength, and my breath catches as I feel him line up behind me. His hands grip my hips, thumbs stroking circles over my skin.
“Goddamn, liefje. You’re gonna ruin me,” he growls, and then he pushes inside—slow, deep, filling me to the hilt.
I moan into the pillow, my body stretching around him, my pulse thundering.
“Jesus Christ. So fucking tight. This pussy was made for me,” he groans, starting a slow rhythm that has my toes curling.
Each thrust hits deep, every movement dragging delicious friction across my walls. His chest presses to my back, his breath hot against my ear.
“You feel that? My cock filling you up, stretching you? That’s it. Take it, sweetheart.”
His words and the steady grind of his hips are too much. Pleasure coils hot and tight, and I can barely breathe, barely talk. “Bas—I—I’m—”
“Yeah, give it to me,” he murmurs, voice like gravel and sin. “Come on my cock. Milk me, liefje.”
The filthy command sends me over the edge, my body clenching around him, shuddering as the orgasm rips through me. He groans low, drives in deep, and I feel him pulse inside me as he comes with a guttural sound, my name tangled in his voice.
We stay like that, tangled and trembling, until he pulls me onto my side and spoons me against his chest. His hand cups my breast lazily, thumb brushing over my nipple, and I can feel his breath against my neck as the rain continues to fall.
For a little while, it feels like the world can’t touch us.
The rain still hasn’t stopped. It’s soft and steady against the Copenhagen window, a lullaby I can almost fall into, as I try to pretend this is my real life.
Bas is a furnace at my back, his breath warm against the curve of my neck.
One heavy hand rests low on my stomach, his thumb lazily tracing circles that make my skin tingle.
I can still feel the echo of him inside me, even though we’ve melted into a tangle of limbs.
My body hums with a slow, delicious ache.
I think he’s drifting off, but when I shift slightly, his hand flexes on me and his voice rumbles low in my ear.
“Careful, liefje,” he murmurs. “You keep wiggling that sweet arse against me, and I’m gonna take you again.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I roll to face him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils dark, that lazy hunger simmering beneath the blue. He looks like he could devour me all over again. Yes please.
I surprise myself by swinging a leg over his waist, straddling him. He lets out a low, rough groan that makes heat curl low in my stomach.
“Jesus, Amber,” he mutters, his big hands sliding over my thighs to my hips. “You’re gonna kill me. You on me like this… fuck, I could die happy.”
I lean down and kiss him, slow and teasing, letting my tongue brush his. His hands grip my arse, guiding me as I grind against him. He’s already getting hard again, thick and heavy against my slick folds.
“You’re so wet still,” he groans, his voice rough and reverent. “All over me. God, look at you.”
I lift slightly, lining him up, and sink down onto his cock in one slow, aching slide. We both moan.
“Fuck, liefje,” he grits out, head falling back against the pillow. “So tight. So perfect. Ride me nice and slow. Let me watch you take every inch.”
I start to move, slow and deliberate, rolling my hips the way I know will make him groan. His hands roam everywhere—up my thighs, my waist, my tits. He thumbs my nipple, then leans up to take it in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me gasp.
“That’s it,” he mutters against my skin. “Ride me, sweetheart. Take what you need. Look at you—fuck—you were made to ride this cock.”
The filthy praise makes my whole body flush with heat. My movements get a little faster, a little needier, and he meets me with slow thrusts that hit deep. Every brush of him against that sensitive spot has me clenching around him.
I brace my hands on his chest, feeling his heart pounding under my palms, and he looks up at me with a mix of awe and hunger.
“Goddamn, Amber. Look at you riding me, all wet and open, those pretty tits bouncing for me—fuck, I’ll never get enough.”
The words unravel me. I chase my release with small, desperate circles of my hips, and his thumb finds my clit, rubbing slow and steady.
“Come on, liefje,” he coaxes, voice low and raw. “Cream on my cock. Let me feel you squeeze me.”
The orgasm hits hard and hot, my body clenching down around him, and he groans, thrusting up deep as he spills inside me, holding me tight against his chest.
We collapse together, sweaty and breathless, his hands still wandering like he can’t stop touching me. He presses a kiss to my temple and whispers, so quietly I almost don’t hear him, “Mine. Fucking mine.”
And for a few stolen hours in the rain, I let myself believe him.