Page 78 of Every Shattered Note
He kisses along my ribs, over my sternum, up the center of me like he’s offering worship.Every part of him touches me.Surrounds me.Holds me like he can’t bear to let go.Like this means more than just sex.Like he’s already inside me in ways that have nothing to do with his body.
When he finally settles between my thighs, the contact steals the breath from my lungs.
His cock rests at my entrance—hard, swollen, so fucking hot I can feel the throb of him against my slick skin.He nudges forward, just a little, and the thick head catches on my opening, the pressure exquisite, agonizing.My hips lift in reflex, chasing more.Desperate for the stretch, the fullness, the unbearable relief of him finally being inside me.
He groans deep in his chest when I move.The sound is low, broken, and filthy.Like he’s falling apart already.
“Fuck—” he mutters, eyes squeezing shut as he presses in, just the tip, barely there, and I gasp at the fullness.The stretch steals the air from my lungs.It’s not even all of him yet, but my body is already clenching, desperate to pull him deeper.It’s too much.It’s not enough.
And then—he stops.
Completely.
He holds himself right there, thick and throbbing at my entrance, like he’s using every last ounce of control not to thrust forward.His breath drags rough against my cheek.
“Wait,” he whispers, strained and wrecked, like he’s trying to stop the world from tipping over.“Fuck.Wait.”
“What—”
“No condom,” he rasps.“I didn’t—shit.I didn’t put it on.”
He still doesn’t move.Doesn’t pull out.Doesn’t even breathe.And neither do I.I don’t want him to go, but also I’m not sure what to expect if he stays.
The tip of him is still inside me, hot and insistent, and it’s like my body has already molded to him, already claimed him.Every nerve is screaming not to stop.
“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his forehead to my shoulder.His voice breaks on the next words.“You feel so fucking good.I wasn’t thinking.I can’t think when I’m with you.It’s like everything else disappears.”
“I know,” I whisper, my fingers running up the tense line of his back.“It’s okay.Go get it.”
He pulls out with a strangled sound, like leaving me physically hurts.And even though it was only the tip, I feel the loss everywhere.Deep.Raw.Immediate.
“I was about to lose it in thirty seconds,” he says, trying to smile but his voice is wrecked.
A shaky laugh breaks out of me.“Thirty seconds?”
“I was being generous,” he mutters, and then kisses me—fast, desperate, like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling.
When he moves off the bed, the air between us crackles with what almost was.What’s about to be.
He yanks open the nightstand drawer, movements jerky, fingers fumbling through the mess until he finds a foil packet.He stares at it like it’s the only thing keeping him from sin.He tears the wrapper and then he rolls the condom on, his cock still hard, flushed, slick from almost being inside me, from everything we didn’t finish.
And when he turns back to me, the look in his eyes changes everything.
Gone is the teasing.The restraint.
What’s left is need.
Raw.Starved.Consuming.
He climbs onto the bed like he owns it—like he owns me—like this is the moment he’s been holding back for, and he’s done pretending he can wait any longer.
He bends and kisses my inner thigh again, slower this time, more reverent than teasing.Then he lines himself up, dragging the head of his cock through my slickness, coating himself in the mess he made of me.He doesn’t rush.
He just watches me.
Watching the way my body arches for him, the way I tremble beneath his touch, the way I’m already whispering his name like a prayer.
And then—he pushes in.
