Page 92 of This Beautiful Lie
And God… I felt it.
In every nerve. Every inhale. Every place his body touched mine.
I hadn’t realized until that moment just how badly I wanted him too.
Heat curled low in my belly, tightening with such force that it stole my breath. My hand skimmed over the hard lines of his torso, down the ridges of his stomach, until I wrapped my fingers around the length of him. His breath hitched, a low sound escaping him—one that made something melt inside me.
My other hand wrapped around his back, and I tugged him closer. “Do you have a condom?”
He stilled—not in hesitation, but with intent. Then he rolled to his side and reached into the nightstand. A foil packet caught the light, and he tore it open with his teeth, causing something inside me to clench.
He slid it over his length, his movements smooth and confident—but there was an edge to him too. Something tight. Something that felt like restraint hanging by a thread.
When he settled over me again, the realization of what we were about to do knocked the air from my lungs.
He lowered himself between my thighs, the heat of him pressing against me as he braced himself on his elbows. Slowly, with so much restraint that his jaw clenched with it, he eased inside me.
My hands slid up his back as my body adjusted to every inch of him, welcoming his girth with a slow shuddering exhale. I pulled him closer as the world narrowed to the sound of our breathing, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his weight on top of me.
When he was fully inside, I let out a breath.
He held perfectly still, giving me time to adjust.
Then hips began to move––his or mine I couldn’t be sure. Rhythm built into deep steady thrusts.
My teeth sank into his shoulder as every movement stole another part of my composure. One second, I was in control—the next, hips were pounding, his breath rough in my ear, his hand sliding down to my slick heat, guiding me even closer toward the edge of my own orgasm .
“Dean—”
His name broke out of me, helpless and honest.
He buried his face in my neck, kissing me, holding me close as the pressure began to build.
My back arched against him, and a helpless sound slipped from my throat. Then everything inside of me fractured into a thousand pieces.
Every nerve lit at once.
Every inhale caught.
My fingers clutched at his shoulders. Then my body was shaking, tightening, unraveling.
He murmured something against my throat, something low and broken that I couldn’t distinguish—just the feeling of it, warm breath and a tremble I’d never heard in his voice before.
He held me through all of it, one hand gripping the sheet beside my hip, the other sliding up my side as though he could steady the shudder pulsing through me.
And then he followed—his body tensing, his breath going shallow and desperate where it hit my skin.
A rough sound escaped him, muffled against my neck, and I felt every part of him give way, every ounce of control snapping as he pressed closer, like he needed the contact as much as I did.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
We just held on.
Two people clinging to something that felt too big, too fragile, too real to fully understand.
When the tremors eased, my fingers slipped into his hair, cradling him without thinking?—
Like my body already knew him.
