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Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“And every time someone talks to you, you’ll know.” I curl my fingers. “That you’re mine.”
She’s close. I can feel it in the way her insides contract, see it in the flush spreading down her neck.
“Brandon…”
“I’ve got you.” I press my forehead to hers, increasing the pressure on her clit. “Let go for me.”
Those mesmerizing eyes lock onto mine, wide and vulnerable, and it hits me right in the chest—how much she’s giving me, how much she’s letting me see.
“Please…”
“What do you need?” Though I already know. I just want to hear her say it.
“You.” She rocks against my hand. “Just you.”
“You have me.” I press harder, working her faster. “All of me.”
Her legs start to shake, and I wrap my free arm around her waist, holding her up as she falls apart. The sight of her coming undone, knowing I did this to her, it’s better than any five-star review I’ve ever gotten.
And I watch every second of it—the way her mouth opens in a silent scream, the way her eyes squeeze shut, the way her whole being seems to break and then reform. It’s perfection.
I keep my fingers inside her, gentling my movements and feeling every aftershock, every little spasm.
When her breathing steadies, I bring my fingers to my lips, tasting us.
It’s the best dish I ever made.
Her eyes track the movement, darkening all over again.
Bed and silk sheets.
I tuck myself back into my pants before carefully adjusting her thong. “You okay?”
She nods, then winces as she shifts position. “That was…”
I smirk. “Yeah?”
“Shut up.” She looks different, like admitting her feelings unlocked something in her. Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.
That critical moment after a soufflé sets—when the structure finally stabilizes and you know, deep in your bones, that all the precise temperatures and careful handling paid off.That sometimes, patience and the right touch can transform something volatile into something beautiful.
Either way, I’m not letting her run this time.
“You sure you okay?” I ask again.
“Green.” She rests her head against my shoulder. “Very green.”
My hands stroke down her back, feeling the slight tremors running through her. “You’re trembling.”
“Good trembling.” She presses closer. “I meant what I said before. All of it.”
“I know.” I press my lips to her temple, breathing her in. “You’re still shaking.”
“Maybe because someone just—” Her voice turns to a whisper. “I don’t even know how to describe what we just did.”
“Want some water?”