And he takes all of it. My sounds, my stuttered breaths, the look on my face as he breaks me apart and puts me back together.
I’m still sucking in gasping breaths, my body still quaking with aftershocks, when he uses his grip on my chin to pull me in for a kiss, sweeping his tongue into my mouth like he can capture the last vestiges of my orgasm there.
My hands scrabble for the button and fly of his jeans, and I work them down carefully as our lips stay fused together. His cock is hard and smooth in my palm, and God, I really did miss this.
He’s right.
There is no only.
I could’ve fucked him yesterday, and my hand would still be shaking, still moving over the velvet-smooth skin with ravenous need. I glide my fingers up and down his shaft a few times, and Lincoln’s hips jerk. He shakes his head, a deep noise rumbling in his chest.
“Goddammit, Low. Get on my fucking dick.”
I grin against his lips. “Sweet talker.”
But I’m already moving to obey his command, his plea, rising up on my knees as he shoves his pants a little farther down. Then I sink down onto him, and for just a second, all the bullshit—all the fear and uncertainty and helplessness of the past week—fades away.
We fit.
We just… fit.
It’s hardly logical, it barely makes sense, and it doesn’t negate the fact that sometimes this boy pisses me off so much I can hardly see straight. But when we come together like this, none of that other stuff seems to matter. It’s like being in the eye of a hurricane. The most peaceful place in the world, surrounded by violent chaos.
As he buries himself inside me to the hilt, the expression on his face changes in a way that makes me positive he feels it too.
“Fuck. Yes, Low,” he murmurs, rocking his hips against mine as I rise up and sink back down, finding a rhythm.
One of his hands splays across my back, keeping me steady as I move, and the other slips up under my sweater, pushing the cup of my bra down so he can roll my nipple between his fingers. Shocks of sensation zap through me, and I press my chest into his hand, demanding more.
The room is quiet and still, except for the muffled sounds of our breaths and voices as we tease each other, push each other, worship each other. We’ve barely taken off any clothes, and even though I miss the feeling of his warm skin pressed flush against mine, there’s something almost more intimate about the fact that we’re only connected in one place, in the place where he’s filling me.
The rough fabric of his jeans rubs against my thighs as I ride him, a delicious contrast to the smooth skin of his cock gliding in and out of me.
We’re not quite fucking and we’re not quite making love.
We’re… reuniting.
My clit rubs against Linc’s pelvis every time I impale myself fully on his length, and I chase the tingling pleasure building inside me, shamelessly using his body to get myself off. When I come, I grind hard against him, burying my face in the crook of his neck and circling my hips over and over.
“Oh God. Lincoln!”
I’m clenching him tight, my inner walls squeezing and contracting around him, making him feel thicker than ever inside me. As my movements slow, he grunts and grabs my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he holds me in place. He thrusts upward in short, sharp movements, using my body like I just used his.
Now we’re fucking, hard and fast.
Then a stream of curses falls from his lips, and I feel his cock swell inside me, jerking rhythmically as his cum floods me.
He bands his arms around my back and presses his lips to my hair, breathing roughly. His hips are still pressing up into mine in little pulses, as if he’s not quite ready to stop fucking me yet, even though he just came.
“Just for the record,” I breathe against his skin, “I don’t do that with strangers.”
He chuckles, and I feel the vibrations in my own chest. “I should hope not.”
I pull back a little to look at him, making no move to climb off him yet. “So we’re good?”
“We’re good.” He tucks my slightly disheveled hair behind my ear. “No more secrets. What I know, you’ll know.”
A smile tugs at my lips, and I gaze down at his face, trying to connect the boy in front of me to the one who stared at me so impassively the night my mom was arrested.