Page 31 of Untamed

I catch the front of his shirt. The fabric bunches in my fist, but I don't pull until he looks at my mouth. "Let me lead. If I get too rough, tell me."

His shoulders loosen by a fraction. "Fine. Lead."

I kiss him before either of us can turn it into another conversation. Arlo gives it back immediately, mouth opening under mine while I drag him closer by the shirt. Heat rolls through the bond, but the anger from the checkpoint does not disappear with it. I can still feel it in him, and I can still feel the ache in my hands. I break the kiss long enough to jerk my head toward the stairs. "Up."

Arlo goes. I stay one step ahead of him all the way to the bedroom, close enough to hear his breathing without his hands landing anywhere I did not put them. The door is already open. I catch his shirt again as soon as we cross the threshold and walk him backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress, then shove him down hard enough to make the bed give beneath him.

He catches himself on one elbow. I climb over him before he can sit up, catch both wrists, and press them beside his head. My grip goes too tight almost immediately. Discomfort flashes through the bond, and Arlo says my name once. "Orion."

I loosen my fingers. "Too hard?"

"Your hands were." He flexes one wrist under mine. "The rest is fine."

I keep him pinned without squeezing and kiss him hard enough that his head sinks deeper into the pillow. Arlo meets me with the same force, teeth catching my lower lip while one thigh pushes between mine. The friction jerks a sound out of me, and I bite him for it. He gives me a rough breath against my mouth and stays where I put him.

I release one wrist and drag his hand down my side. "Here." His palm closes around my waist without pulling. Heat punches low through my stomach, and I move down to his throat, biting high on his shoulder until his fingers tighten against me.

His free hand starts toward my back. I catch it and put it on my other hip. "There too."

Arlo's mouth shifts like he might say something. He thinks better of it and grips both hips instead.

I sit back over his thighs and pull his shirt over his head. Bruises are already darkening beneath his collarbone and along one wrist from my hands. I drag my thumb once over the edge of the mark at his shoulder, then push him flat again when he tries to follow me up.

"Stay."

He stays.

I strip my own shirt off and throw it somewhere behind me. Arlo's eyes move over my chest, the old scars, the fading marks at my hips, but his hands do not leave the places I gave them. I grind against him through his trousers until his breathing changes, then do it again because I want the pressure harder.

"Take them off."

Arlo sits up only far enough to shove his trousers down and kick them away. When he lies back, I wrap my hand around his cock and stroke once. His breath breaks. I do it again slower, watching his stomach tighten beneath my hand.

His fingers flex at my hips. "Orion."

"Stay still."

Arlo drops back against the mattress. His jaw tightens, but his hips stop moving.

I reach for the oil in the nightstand and slick my fingers before shifting onto my knees over him. The first press makes my body tighten. Arlo's hand moves a fraction at my hip, and I catch his wrist. "Stay." His fingers go still beneath mine while I breathe through the stretch.

I add another finger when my body loosens enough to take it. The burn eases slowly, turning warmer each time I move my hand. Arlo watches my face instead of looking down between us, and when I curl my fingers his breath changes at the same time mine does.

The third finger takes longer. I stop, change the angle, and try again. Arlo's thumbs press once into my hips, not moving me, just there while I work myself open around the stretch. When it finally stops biting, I pull my hand free and wipe the oil against the towel beside us.

My thighs are already shaking from holding myself over him. I close my hand around his cock and guide him against me, letting the blunt pressure rest there until my breathing evens. Arlo loosens his grip at my hips. "You want me to move?"

"No. I do."

I brace one hand on his chest and lower myself slowly. The first inch catches hard enough that my nails dig into his skin. Arlo goes completely still. I stop there, breathe, then sink lower by degrees until another sharp pull makes me pause.

"Take your time," he says, voice rough.

"I am." I lift just enough to change the angle and lower again. This time my body gives more easily, and I take him the rest of the way until my thighs press to his sides.

For several breaths neither of us moves. Arlo's hands stay open at my hips while I roll mine once. Pleasure cuts through the ache hard enough that my hands tighten on his chest.

"Fuck." His head drops back into the pillow.