Page 59 of The Hitman’s Final Job

I lower myself slowly. The first inch is … a lot. The pressure and stretch, the fullness, make me stop and breathe. Vaughn’s hands are on my hips, but he’s not pushing, not guiding, just holding, just there. Just looking at me like I’m everything.

So I keep going because I want to be everything for him, even if it can’t be forever.

Slow. An inch at a time. Stopping when I need to, breathing through it, feeling the burn ease into pleasure.

When I’m finally seated with Vaughn all the way inside me, I stop moving and just feel it.

Full. I feel so full.

“Silas.” Vaughn’s voice has lost most of its composure.

“I … ” don’t know what to say, so I move. Just slightly at first and then more, finding the rhythm.

We kiss. Deep and slow while I move, and he moves with me. We’re breathing each other’s air, and this is so fucking perfect I don’t deserve it.

“You feel so good,” he says against my mouth.

“So do you,” I say. “God, so do you.”

I sit back and put my hands on his thighs behind me, changing the angle, and Vaughn’s cock hits the spot.

I cry out loud, thankful he doesn’t have any close neighbors.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

“You are driving me wild, Silas. So fucking tight and beautiful. Look at you.”

I stop trying to make it last and chase the pleasure instead. I ride Vaughn’s cock with everything I have, chasing that angle, chasing that feeling. The room is full with the sound of us and the headboard against the wall and my own increasingly incoherent commentary.

“Touch me,” I say. “Vaughn, please, I need you to⁠—”

He wraps his hand around me immediately, sure and steady, and strokes me in time with my movement. His face is that of a man coming undone because of me, and that’s what does it.

Not the hand. Not the angle. His face.

I come, long and hard and with his name in my mouth, my whole body shaking with it, and Vaughn strokes me through every second of it, his other hand gripping my hip, holding me steady while I fall apart on top of him.

I collapse against his chest.

He holds me, and for a moment we just breathe.

Then his hands find my waist, and he rolls us until I’m on my back. He’s still inside me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I chuckle. “More than. Take what you need from me. I want to see you.”

I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer as he finds his rhythm. Every stroke and sound is amplified, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

My ass is burning now, but I don’t care. I want to walk funny in the morning and feel every single stroke for days.

“Silas,” he cries, as if needing to let go but not wanting it.

“I’ve got you.”

He comes with my name on his lips. His cry filling the room and maybe also filling something inside me I didn’t know was empty, and I hold him through it the way he held me.

We stay there, entangled, breathing, not moving, not speaking.