Page 196 of A Taste of Vanilla

I search her face, and she nods.

I keep my hand there and tighten my hold. With my other hand, I reach down and find her clit.

She cries out. Again. Louder. Exactly what I asked for.

“Come for me again, Hal.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, baby. I know you can.”

“Warren—”

“You can.” I move my thumb slowly, my hips not stopping, my hand steady at her throat. “And you will.”

Her face crumples.

I know the moment she starts to break. Her thighs shake first, then her breath breaks. Then her mouth opens around my name, and I catch it with mine because I can’t stand the distance.

She comes hard enough that her body locks around me. Hard enough that my hand leaves her throat and grips the counter because I can’t trust myself with anything delicate right now.

Hard enough that I almost follow her immediately.

I hold on.

She slumps against me, shaking, and I kiss her cheek. Her temple.

The corner of her mouth.

“Good girl, baby.”

She makes a wrecked sound. I feel it everywhere.

Her eyes open, hazy and satisfied and still not done ruining me. “Warren.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to come.”

“I will.”

“No.” Her hand slides to my jaw. “Give me everything you’ve got.” She kisses me once. “I want you undone.”

I grip her hips, and she smiles. “Come on, Warren,” she whispers. “Let me have it.”

I break.

I fuck her harder. I’m so far past measured. Past the version of me that keeps everything locked away.

Halston takes all of it.

Hands in my hair, mouth against mine, body open and trembling and demanding. She keeps her eyes on mine.

It comes fast.

Built by days of wanting her, of stopping myself from fucking my fist to thoughts of her beneath me, of remembering the way her pussy tasted and the curve of her lips against mine.

Of pretending like there’s still a clean exit for me.