I whimper. Fuck being quiet. Fuck holding it in. I’m not built for moderation and he’s proving it with every thrust.
“There,” I choke. “Right there, Saul, don’t stop.”
“I’ve got you,” he says again, this time rougher. His hands find my hips, grip tight enough to hold me open. “I’ve got you, baby, I’m not letting go.”
He moves slow and deep and focused, every roll of his hips is part of some private ritual, one only he knows the steps to. Carving his name into me one thrust at a time. Leaving something I’ll still feel days from now when I close my legs and think of this exact moment with a goddamnpulse.
His thumb finds my clit. Circles it with the same maddening patience he’s using everywhere else.
I jerk against him.
“There you go,” he says. “That’s it.”
Every thrust pushes me higher. Every circle of his thumb winds me tighter.
He dips his mouth to my neck. Breathes me in like I’m home.
“Stevie,” he whispers, and it’s not a name anymore. It’s a confession.
I dig my heels into the mattress. Grind up against him shamelessly. He meets every movement with deeper precision, dragging friction from every place I didn’t know I could ache.
“I’m close,” I pant.
“I know.” He shifts his angle, hips slanting just enough, and fuck.
I cry out, shameless and shaking. My fingers clutch at his shoulders.
“Let go,” he says, voice low. “I’ve got you. Come for me.”
And I do. It rips through me like electricity, hot and violent and endless, my whole body snapping tight, thenshatteringas I cry out his name, begging for something I don’t even have words for.
He drives into me one last time andstays, buried deep as he groans my name into my mouth and fuckingbreaks.
The way his body jerks, the way he collapses into me like every thread finally snapped, I’ll replay it forever.
His weight is heavy. Perfect. Real.
We stay tangled, chests heaving. Skin slick. Breath shared. His forehead resting against mine, one hand still in my hair like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
“I’m here,” he whispers, voice thready but whole. “And I’m always coming back to you.”
And I don’t cry. Not really. Just breathe too hard for someone who swears she’s fine.
“Wow,” I manage eventually.
He laughs. Soft, satisfied. “Yeah?”
“That was...” I search for words. “Really, really good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Not surprised. Just...” I kiss his jaw. “Happy. I think I’m happy.”
“You think?”
“It’s been a while. I’m out of practice identifying the emotion.”
He pulls back enough to look at me. His expression is tender. Open in a way I’ve never seen from him. “I’m happy too,” he says. “For the record.”
