Page 49 of Break Away
I nodded.
“This is happening,” he said, his voice low and gravelly with promise. “And you’re gonna feel every fucking inch of it.”
Then he drove into me in one long, deep, relentless thrust that buried him to the hilt.
The sound I made was pure, undiluted shock. The stretch was exquisite, a perfect, burning fullness that stole the air from my lungs. My head fell back against the post with a dull thud. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, that I could feel him in places I didn’t know existed.
He didn’t move. He braced his hands on the wood on either side of my head, caging me with his body while his forehead dropped to mine. We stayed joined completely, both of us breathing in ragged, shattered sync. His heart hammered against my chest, a wild echo of my own.
His voice was strained and rough with something that went beyond lust. “Feel what I’m doing to you, Aura. Every bit of it. This is me. Inside you. This is what you wanted.”
He began to move.
It wasn’t gentle or romantic. It was raw, primal, and utterly consuming. He set a hard, driving rhythm, each thrustpushing me up the post and each withdrawal becoming a sweet agony. The wood scraped my back, the sand shifted beneath my feet, and his body became a relentless, perfect engine driving me into the night.
His mouth found mine again in a searing kiss that swallowed my moans. He tasted like me, like us, like sweat, lake water, and sex. He kissed me like he was trying to consume me, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, my nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.
“You feel… fuck, you feel so good,” he gritted out between thrusts, his control fraying. “So tight. So fucking perfect. This cunt was made for me.”
The filthy words, delivered in that rough, earnest voice, shattered the last of my resistance. Another orgasm gathered low and deep, a tidal wave building from my toes.
“Come on,” he urged, his pace turning frantic and brutal. “Come for me. I want to feel you let go. I want to feel you come all over my cock.”
He reached between us, his thumb finding my clit and pressing hard as he circled it in time with his thrusts.
That was it.
The climax ripped through me, violent and blinding. I screamed into his mouth, my body convulsing around him and my inner muscles clamping down in rhythmic pulses that milked his length perfectly. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, a white-hot detonation that left me trembling and boneless.
With a guttural roar that was part triumph and part surrender, he followed. His thrusts lost all rhythm and became jerky and desperate. He buried himself as deep as he could go and held there, his whole body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me. Heat flooded me in a final, possessive claim.
He collapsed against me, his weight pressing me into the post and his breath hot and ragged in my ear. We stayed tangled, spent, and joined while the lake whispered beside us and the distant party played on a world away.
Slowly, his breathing evened. He softened inside me but didn’t pull out. He nuzzled his face into the curve of my neck, his lips brushing my skin in what felt like an unconscious gesture.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of our breathing and the water.
Then he let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Rules are fucking stupid.”
A weak, trembling sound escaped me that might have been a laugh or a sob. I wasn’t sure.
He finally eased back, his hands coming up to frame my face. He looked down at me, searching in the dark while his thumbs wiped at what might have been tears or sweat on my cheeks. He didn’t ask if I was okay, and there was no joke to be made. He only looked at me, and in that look, I felt the careful fiction of tonight only crack down the middle.
He leaned in and kissed me softly and slowly, a kiss tasting of salt, satisfaction, and something dangerously close to tenderness.
When he pulled away, he gently tugged my bikini top back into place, his fingers surprisingly deft as he retied the strings. He smoothed the fabric of my bottoms back over my hip, his touch lingering for a second.
He stepped back, pulled up his trunks, and kept his eyes on me.
“Tomorrow doesn’t exist,” I said, my voice hoarse. I was reminding him and the frantic, hopeful thing beating behind my ribs.
He nodded once, a sharp, clean movement. “Tonight does.”
He held out his hand as an offer rather than a demand. I looked at it, then at his face caught between gold and shadow in the distant firelight, and took it.
His fingers closed around mine, warm and solid.
We walked back toward the party in silence, the sand cool beneath our feet and the ghost of his body still echoing in mine. He didn’t let go until the glow of the bonfire touched our skin and we could hear Briggs laughing again, until we were no longer only us in the dark but two people among many carrying a secret that felt heavier than the lake.
