She flushed deeper but didn’t cover herself. Instead, she reached between us, lined me up, and started to sink down—slow, so slow. Her face tightened, her brows drawing together as the head breached her.
I saw the wince. I felt the resistance. My chest squeezed.
“Hey.” I cupped her face, my thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Breathe for me.”
She nodded, eyes locked on mine.
I leaned in and took one nipple into my mouth—gentle suction, tongue flicking—while my thumb found her clit again,rubbing soft, distracting circles. She whimpered, her hips rocking in tiny increments, working me in deeper, inch by careful inch. Once I was fully inside her, she let out a long, trembling exhale.
The tight, hot grip of her around me was almost too much. I stayed still, letting her adjust, letting her set the pace.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” I told her, my voice rough. “Taking me. Look at you—those pretty tits bouncing every time you move, that sweet little sound you make when I hit just right. Can you hear how wet you are? Fuck, Hartley, you’re dripping down my balls.”
She moaned louder at the words, rolling her hips experimentally. The pain on her face had eased into something softer, hungrier. Heat bloomed between us again, slick and easy now.
“That’s it,” I murmured against her skin. “Ride me, baby. Just like that. Feel how deep I am? That’s all you. Every inch.”
Her movements grew bolder—slow grinds turning into shallow bounces. I kept my thumb on her clit, matching her rhythm, sucking and licking at her nipples until she was trembling again, her nails scoring my shoulders.
I held the pace steady at first—slow, deep rolls of my hips that made her gasp every time I filled her completely. Her arms looped around my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tugging just enough to send sparks down my spine.
She was getting slicker, hotter, her body softening around me like she was finally surrendering the last of her tension. “Dash,” she breathed against my mouth, her voice somehow rough and sweet at the same time. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” I promised.
I slid my hand between us again, my thumb finding her clit—still swollen and sensitive—and circled it in time with mythrusts. She jolted, a sharp little cry escaping her, and that was it.
The sight of her—head tipped back, lips parted, breasts bouncing with every roll of her hips, the way she clenched around me like she never wanted to let go—pushed my restraint almost to the breaking point.
When she came the second time, it was quieter but deeper—her whole body locking around me, her inner walls fluttering and pulsing, milking me so hard I nearly lost it right then. I gritted my teeth, my hands clamping her hips, holding her down while she shook through it, her soft whimpers vibrating against my chest.
The sight and feel of her unraveling pushed me over the edge. Heat coiled low and tight in my gut and my thrusts turned harder, less careful, chasing release.
“Fuck, Hartley—gonna come,” I gritted out, barely coherent. “Where do you want me?”
“Inside,” she whispered, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Please—inside me.”
That single word—please—tipped me.
I buried my face against her neck, inhaling the salt-sweat scent of her skin, and drove up hard one last time. The release hit like a punch, white-hot and blinding. I groaned her name against her throat as I came, pulsing deep inside her, each spasm dragging another low sound from my chest. She trembled around me, milking every last drop, her own soft whimpers mingling with mine until we were both shaking.
I held her tight through the aftershocks, our hips still rocking in tiny, instinctive pulses as the pleasure ebbed into something warm and heavy. My heart hammered against her chest and hers answered in the same frantic rhythm.
Only when her breathing steadied did I start moving again—short, careful thrusts now, letting her feel every slow slide while Istayed buried inside her. She whimpered my name like a prayer, her forehead pressed to mine, and I knew I was gone for her.
No telling how long we stayed tangled like that, her cheek against my shoulder, my arms wrapped around her back, both of us still half-dressed and sweaty on the boulder. The creek kept its steady murmur. A breeze moved through the leaves overhead. Somewhere far off, a bird called once, twice. I pressed my lips to her hair and felt something settle in my chest—solid, certain, like a stone finally finding the bottom of a river.
I’d known it the first morning she walked into my kitchen and started lining up my mismatched mugs like they were soldiers on parade. I’d known she was different—that she fit in a place I hadn’t even realized was empty.
But this—this raw, open moment on the mountain I loved most—made it undeniable. She wasn’t leaving when the festival ended. She wasn’t temporary.
Whatever it took—clearing more trails, learning how to fold a damn fitted sheet, giving up every last scrap of my chaos if that’s what she needed—I’d do it. Hartley was staying.
And I was keeping her.
5
HARTLEY