My hand slides down, my fingers tracing the waistband of her leggings before slipping beneath. She’s smooth, bare, and soaked. My fingers glide through her folds easily, her wetness coating them, and she moans brokenly as I find her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure.
“You’re wet,” I growl against her skin, my lips trailing up her throat to her ear. “All for me.” I don’t know where this confidence is coming from but in this moment, I know exactly what I want.
“Yes,” she gasps, her hips bucking against my hand. “Only you.”
The words send a jolt of possessive heat through me. I slide one finger inside her, then another, curling them justright, and she cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to hurt.
She rocks against my hand, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body tightening around my fingers. I can feel her getting closer, her muscles fluttering, her wetness coating my hand.
“Phil, I’m—I’m gonna—”
“I know,” I murmur, my lips against her throat. “Let go, Christina. Come for me.”
She does. With a broken cry, her body clenches around my fingers, her back arching as she comes. I keep my fingers buried inside her, drawing out every last tremor, my cock so hard it’s painful.
When she finally slumps against me, boneless and breathing heavily, I pull my hand free, bringing my fingers to my mouth. Her eyes lock onto me as I suck them clean, tasting her—sweet and musky and mine.
“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “That was—”
“I know,” I say, my voice rough. I don’t let her finish. Instead, I kiss her again, slower this time, deeper. Letting myself feel everything instead of holding it at a distance.
My hand slides along her thigh, and she responds instantly, arching into the touch. Her breath shudders, my name falling from her lips again, softer now.
The sound anchors me.
For so long, I’ve lived inside hesitation. Inside caution. Inside the constant expectation that I would misstep, misunderstand, lose something before I even realised I had it.
But here, with her, there is no uncertainty.
She meets me without fear. Without doubt.
Her fingers trace the line of my shoulders, my back, learning me the way I am learning her. Not demanding. Not rushing.
Her warmth surrounds me completely now. Her presence. Her trust. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m about to lose something.
I feel like I’ve finally found it.
I roll us again, my body covering hers. She spreads her thighs for me, welcoming me, and I settle between them, my cock pressing against her through my jeans. She’s still dressed from the waist down, her leggings clinging to her hips, and I hook my fingers into the waistband, dragging them down her legs along with her knickers.
She’s bare. Smooth. Glistening.
I groan, my control fraying.
“Phil,” she whispers, her hands sliding up my chest, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt. “I need you. Now.”
I don’t argue. I strip my shirt off, tossing it aside, and then I’m kicking off my jeans, my boxers, my cock springing free, thick and leaking. Christina’s eyes drop to it, her tongue wetting her lips, and the sight of her looking at me like that—like she’s starving—nearly undoes me.
I reach for the nightstand, fumbling for a condom, but she stops me, her hand wrapping around my wrist.
“No,” she says, her voice firm. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
I freeze. “Christina—”
“I’m clean,” she says, her gaze steady. “And I’m on the pill. I trust you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Trust. That’s what this is. That’s what she is.
I don’t answer with words. Instead, I line myself up at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her slick heat. She’s so wet, so ready, and when I push inside, it’s like coming home.