Page 85 of Held-
With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside me to the hilt. I cry out as he stretches me. He stills for a moment, letting me adjust to his size.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, beginning to move in slow, deep strokes that make my toes curl. “You’re so fucking wet, princess. You’re dripping for my cock.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper with each thrust. His pace increases, the drag of him against my oversensitive flesh. I'm already climbing toward another peak.
“Brayden,” I gasp. “Oh god, Brayden.”
“When you pray, princess, you pray to me. Not to God. Not to the devil. Me.”
The blasphemy should horrify me, but instead it makes something molten pool in my belly. I've spent my whole life praying to a God who never answered, but Brayden—he answers every plea with his body, his touch, and his possessive words.
“Say it,” he demands, slowing his thrusts to an agonizing pace. “Who do you pray to?”
“You,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Only you.”
The confession tears from my throat. His eyes flash with something primal, and he rewards me by picking up his pace, driving into me with renewed purpose.
“That's right,” he growls, his hand sliding down to grip my hip, angling me even better. “I'm the only one who can make you feel like this. The only one who knows what you need.”
He's right. No one has ever read my reactions the way he does, known exactly how to touch, how to move inside me. Ethan never made me feel even a fraction of what Brayden does.
“I'm close,” I whimper, my body tightening around him. “Please don't stop.”
“Never,” he promises, his rhythm never faltering.
My attention is all on him. His pupils are blown wide, just a thin ring of steel-gray around the black, and there's something primal and possessive there that makes my heart stutter. I couldn't look away if I tried.
“Only you,” I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “It's only ever been you.”
He growls, a sound so deep I feel it vibrate through my core, and his thrusts become more urgent, more desperate. I'm climbing higher, my body tightening around him as pressure builds between my legs. His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and the dual sensation of him filling me completely while his fingers work their magic is too much.
My vision blurs at the edges as I shatter around him. I'm vaguely aware of crying out his name and my nails digging into his back hard enough to leave marks.
“Fuck, Cece,” he groans, his rhythm faltering as my body pulses around him. With one final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside me and finds his own release, his body going rigid above mine.
For several heartbeats, we stay frozen, both panting, slick with sweat. Then he lowers himself carefully, rolling to the side and pulling me against his chest. His heart hammers beneath my ear, gradually slowing.
I lay there in the stillness, listening to his heartbeat slow, feeling his fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin. The morning light is beginning to filter through the curtains, casting the room in a soft golden glow that makes everything feel dreamlike. My body is deliciously sore, pleasantly exhausted in a way that only comes from being thoroughly loved.
Loved.
The word echoes in my mind, impossible to ignore. Is that what this is? This overwhelming feeling that's been growing inside me since the moment I showed up at his door with my suitcase?
“What's going on in that head of yours? You're thinking so loud I can practically hear it.”
I hesitate, suddenly terrified. We've shared our bodies, our space, our darkest moments—but this feels like jumping off a cliff without knowing how deep the water is below.
“I...” The words stick in my throat. I swallow hard, gathering my courage. “I think I'm falling in love with you.”
His body goes completely still beneath me. Even his breathing seems to stop for a heartbeat. I keep my face pressed against his chest, too afraid to look up and see his reaction.
“I know it's probably too soon,” I rush on, the words tumbling out now that I've started. “And I'm not expecting you to say it back or even feel the same way.” I rush to fill the silence, my heart hammering against my ribs. “It's just...I've never felt this way before. Not with Ethan, not with anyone. And it terrifies me because everything about us has happened so fast, but it also feels more real than anything I've ever experienced and I?—”
“Stop,” Brayden orders. His hand comes up to cup my chin, tilting my face until I'm forced to look at him.
My stomach drops. This is it. This is where he tells me I'm moving too fast, expecting too much. That this thing between us is just physical, just convenient while I figure out my life. I brace myself for rejection, already planning my retreat to the bathroom where I can cry in private.
But then his thumb brushes across my cheek, so tenderly it steals my breath.