Page 83 of Rush

We lay there, breathless and wrecked, limbs tangled, skin damp.

Months of tension. Months of teasing, of skirting the edge until the dam finally broke. Relief courses through me, leaving me weightless, boneless—undone.

He rolls onto his back, dragging me with him. One arm locks tight around my waist, the other lifts to brush sweat-slick hair from my face. He kisses my temple—a gesture so tender it takes me aback, considering the absolute pounding he just unleashed on me.

“Now we’re even, sweetheart,” he mutters, pulling off the condom, tying it off, and tossing it toward the bin.

I laugh, still catching my breath, I turn to face him, curling closer until I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “For now. You broke the rules, though.”

He hums, not the least bit remorseful. “Which one?”

“No bed sex.”

“El,” he says, voice all mock innocence, “technically, it’s the hotel’s bed.”

“You still broke the rules.”

He grins, shameless. “And what can I do to make it up to you?”

I lift my head and look him dead in the eye. “I want you raw. No condom. I want to feel every fucking vein, every inch of you.”

His laugh punches out of him, cocky and incredulous.

I drag my nails lightly down his chest. “I want to feel your cum dripping out of me.”

He groans, loud.

“You trying to kill me?”

“I want you to come so deep I feel it when I wake up.”

He slaps my ass, fingers gripping after. A giggle rips through me. He makes me feel safe enough to share my filthiest fantasies.

His green eyes light up with mischief. “Keep talking like that and you’re gonna get it.”

“That’s the idea.” I smile against his chest. “I’m on the pill. So, give me what I want and fill me up.” I plant a kiss against his glistening skin.

“El—I have a short refractory period. I’ll fuck your pussy so raw. You’ll remember me with every step you take for a week.”

And true to his word, he’s hard again.

And I’m soaked, dripping, just waiting for him to make good on it.

Hours later, the room now smells like us. Sex and sweat. The sheets are a mess—half off the bed, tangled around my ankle. My thighs sticky where he’d come, and I don’t bother moving. My muscles tender, sweet and spent, the kind of ache that comes from being used and teased and stretched and filled over and over again.

We hadn’t stopped.

We fucked, passing out, waking up and doing it again. Over and over, until my voice was hoarse from begging, laughing, moaning his name.

He had me bend in every which way.

Somewhere around 4 a.m., I’d dozed off facedown across his chest. Sometime after that, he drags me back on his cock, murmuring something filthy against my mouth. I’m not even sure if it was a dream or not.

But my body felt too used for it to be a lie. Months of pent-up emotions manifesting into a marathon fuck-fest.

Now the sun was bleeding golden through the hotel curtains, pale and unforgiving.