Her wrapped around me.
I carry her to the bed and lower her onto it. I guide her hands above her head and lace my fingers through hers, pinning them there. Her chest arches, pressing against her shirt, her nipples already hard beneath the fabric.
She lifts her hips, inviting me in.
I shake my head.
I’m in control now.
And if we’re doing this, it’s happening at my pace.
She writhes beneath me, begging for the release she knows I can give her, but I’m not giving in. My cock presses against the heat between her thighs, and I have to close my eyes, drawing slow breaths so I don’t lose it completely.
Eventually, I wrestle back enough control to touch her the way I want to.
I lower my mouth to her neck, licking along her throat, tasting the mix of sweetness and sweat on her skin. She moans, pleading with her body, her eyes, her lips. I push up her shirt and use my teeth to tug at her bra, never looking away from her, letting her see everything I intend to do to her—everything we could be if either of us stopped fighting this.
“Hurry,” she gasps.
“That’s not my style, darling,” I whisper, kissing the skin just above her bra before gripping the fabric with my teeth and pulling it upward. “You wanted me. You’re going to get all of me.”
I free her soft, trembling breasts, her pink nipples already tight. I lower my mouth and trace a slow circle around each areola. She arches toward me, desperate for more, but I keep it maddeningly gentle—just enough to make her shiver, stretching the tension second by second.
Small, desperate cries slip from her lips. Her toes curl, her legs kick out, and the impatience burning through her is unmistakable. She wants me inside her—now—and when I finally lick her nipple, she cries out and arches off the bed, her entire body trembling.
“Please,” she moans, hoarse and needy, but I ignore it.
I take my time, suckling each peak slowly, dragging my teeth across the sensitive bud. My hips move against her parted thighsin slow, controlled strokes, and I feel every flinch, every tremor, every desperate sound she makes.
I want to see everything.
I want to uncover every part of her.
But fuck if I know how long I can hold out.
My whole body burns. My cock throbs, leaking, aching for her. I’m a pleaser by instinct—I like making sure a woman is undone before I even think about taking her—but seeing her like this is tearing my control apart.
Then one of her hands slips free of my grip and wraps around my cock, squeezing hard.
“Oh fuck!” I groan, eyes clenching shut.
Yeah. That’s it. I’m gone.
“Fuck, Sierra.”
“You like that?” she whispers, wicked and breathless. “Then fuck me. Now.”
Damn it. I thought I was in charge. Turns out she’s had me exactly where she wanted me this whole time.
She drags my zipper down and frees me, and that’s the end of foreplay—I’m a dead man. Even before she guides me to her slick, tight entrance, squeezing me in her hand, I know I’m done for.
Lust hits hard and fast, and I give in instantly. I spread her open and thrust into her in one deep stroke. Buried to the hilt, I savor her scream, bite down on her shoulder, and lose myself as everything crashes through us.
“What’s this?”
Sierra’s fingers drift along my arm as she catches her breath, and I’m so blissed-out I don’t register what she’s touching until she reaches the jagged ridges near my wrist.
Instinctively, part of me wants to pull away, hide my scars—but I force that urge down. Healing means honesty. Facing the shame that never fully leaves. I let her touch them. I let her explore the marks that will never fade.