Page 60 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against me, before his mouth seals over my clit. He sucks deep, like he’s trying to drink me down. My hips jerk into his face, but his hands are already gripping my thighs, pinning me to the mattress.

Theo’s tongue flicks in short, perfect strokes before circling my clit in tight, ruthless loops that make my voice break on his name. The heat builds sharp and fast, the kind that makes my thighs tremble and my pussy ache to be fucked.

He groans again, the vibration shooting through my core. “Yeah… give me that. Get my face wet.”

His tongue fucks me harder now, faster, his lips sucking around my clit until the pressure turns unbearable.

It’s dirty.

Obscene.

So fucking good I’d stay here all night, letting him tear me apart, just to feel him crawl up my body and fuck me with that same ruthless precision.

Every now and then he pulls back, chin slick with my wetness, eyes locked on mine with that unblinking, predatory focus.

My body arches toward him, desperate to fuck myself on his mouth, and he answers with a deeper suck on my clit that has me moaning loud enough to echo in this quiet room.

“Good,” he growls against me. “That’s it. Give it to me. I want every fucking drop.”

The words make my nipples tighten and my pussy flood.

He doesn’t break his pace. Every pass is deliberate, unhurried, his mouth owning every inch of me while the pressure builds into something sharp and unbearable.

My hips jerk, chasing harder contact, but he’s already holding me down.

One arm hooked around my thigh, keeping me open for him, the other pressing hard into my stomach, pinning me to the bed like he owns my body.

The control makes it hotter. Dirtier. I can’t grind against him or speed him up. I can’t do anything but take what he’s giving me.

Then it comes. The knot inside me snaps.

My back bows off the bed, a choked cry ripping out of me as the orgasm tears through me so hard it nearly blanks my vision.

My pussy spasms, clenching again and again around nothing, each pulse wetter than the last while he keeps his mouth locked on me.

He doesn’t just lick—he drinks me in, swallowing every bit of it like I’m something he’s been starving for.

I’m shaking uncontrollably, my toes curling, my hands gripping his hair hard enough to hurt, but he still doesn’t let go.

He works me through every wave, every aftershock, until my body starts to jolt from overstimulation, my thighs trying to clamp shut.

He forces them open, holding me there until he’s satisfied.

He finally gives me one last filthy, open-mouthed suck on my clit before lifting his head.

When he crawls up my body, his mouth crashes to mine, and I taste myself thick on his tongue.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers, forehead pressed to mine, his breath warm and thick against my lips.

“You,” I breathe, voice cracking. “Inside me.”

Something shifts in his eyes.

He doesn’t only hear it—he feels it.

His jaw flexes once before he nods.

He pushes up onto his knees, the mattress dipping under his weight. He shoves his jeans down his thighs, briefs going with them, his cock springing free, hard, heavy, the thick length flushed and glistening at the tip.

Fuck.

It’s perfect, big enough to make me ache with the stretch in my head before he’s even inside me.

Veins run along the shaft, his hand wrapping around them as he gives one slow, lazy stroke from base to tip, smearing pre-come over the head while never breaking eye contact.

This isn’t for show—he’s making it clear exactly what I’m about to get.

He leans forward, kissing the inside of my knee, his mouth soft but full of promise. After that, he reaches for the drawer.

“Condom,” he murmurs.

The foil tears between his teeth. He rolls it down his cock with steady hands, and my eyes follow every movement, watching the latex stretch over that thick length until he’s fully sheathed.

He settles between my legs, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, the other wrapped around his cock. He drags it through my slick, the ridge catching on my clit in a slow grind before sliding lower again. My hips twitch, chasing him without thinking.

“Greedy,” he mutters, smirking like it turns him on.

He bends down, pressing a kiss to my stomach, his lips hot against my skin, before straightening and locking eyes with me. He stays there, the head of his cock resting right at my entrance making me ache.

Then he pushes in.

The stretch is obscene. My pussy grips him instantly, the first thick inch making me gasp, my hands curling into the sheets. He keeps going, until my body is stuffed full of him, the head nudging so deep it steals the breath from my lungs.

“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes dropping to where I’m stretched tight around him. “Look at that pussy, taking every fucking inch of me.”

The stretch tears the breath from my lungs, my walls clamping down as if they’re desperate to drag him deeper.

Heat races up my spine while his eyes stay fixed on me, catching every flicker—my parted lips, the flutter of my lashes when he pushes further.

Inch by inch, he buries himself inside me until he’s balls deep.

His jaw flexes, a groan rumbling up from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough. “You feel fucking perfect. So tight I’m scared to fucking move.”

When he moves, it’s slow enough to make me ache and clench for more.

Long, deep thrusts drag over every sensitive ridge inside me, forcing my thighs to lock tighter around his hips. Each push is deliberate, measured, making sure I register every vein, every inch, every hard withdrawal and slow slide back in.

His hands won’t stay still. One roams over my waist, the other traces down my hip, then skates along the inside of my thigh until his fingertips are brushing dangerously close to where I’m stretched around him. It’s claiming.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice all command. “Don’t drift, Quinn. I want you here for every fucking second.”

I try to hold his gaze, but the way he moves makes my eyes flutter, my breath stutter. He thrusts deeper, finding that spot that makes my spine bow and my fists hold tight onto the sheets.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching my mouth fall open, my chest heave. “You feel so fucking good, so hot, so wet for me. That’s it, baby… grip my cock. Show me how much you fucking need it.”

Every stroke builds the heat low in my belly, winding it tighter with each slow grind of his hips.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t chase it, keeps that unhurried rhythm, letting the friction make me shake and burn under him until I’m right on the edge.

“Yeah,” he whispers, a dark curve to his mouth. “There she is. Look at you taking my cock so fucking well. This pussy was made for me.”

He sits back on his knees, the ink sprawled across his chest catching my eyes.

My palm skims up the solid plane of muscle until it rests over his heart. It’s pounding hard and fast, each beat thudding against my hand like it’s trying to break free.

He catches my wrist, brings my fingers to his mouth, and drags his tongue over them before sucking one between his lips, before he kisses it. He pulls my hand away, presses it back over the frantic hammer of his heart.

“Tell me what you feel,” he growls.

“You,” I whisper.

That word rips a feral sound from his chest, and he’s on me again, forearms braced on either side, caging me in.

His hips roll in slow, punishing strokes, cock grinding deep.

The stretch steals my breath, every thrust leaving me tighter, my walls clenching around him with each deliberate pull and push.

He kisses me, mouth hot and wet, swallowing the desperate fucks and ragged yeses that spill out of my mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my lips. “This pussy’s already so fucking close. I can feel it. It’s begging me to fill you. But first I want you to come all over my cock.”

A sharp, deep thrust makes me cry out, my nails raking down his back. He smirks against my mouth as if he owns me for pulling that sound out.

The rhythm stays slow. Deep rolls that drag his cock over every swollen, sensitive nerve before sinking back inside me to the hilt. He shifts, angling just right, and pleasure detonates so hard my head tips back, a choked moan spilling out.

His mouth is on my throat, tongue and teeth marking my skin. His hand slides under my thigh, hauling my leg higher around his waist. The new depth is obscene.

“Better?” he says, his cock grinding in deep.

“Yes,” I gasp, clinging to him like I’ll come apart if I let go. “So fucking good. Please…don’t stop.”

His eyes go dark. He doesn’t break eye contact as he rolls his hips. The rhythm is steady but punishing in its precision. Each thrust leaves me stretched to the edge.

“Fuck… look at you,” he growls, thumb dragging down my cheek to my jaw.

The headboard bumps against the wall with every slide in of his cock. My thighs grip around his waist, not letting him pull back far, keeping him buried where I need him.

“You’re so fucking perfect. Every little moan, every twitch of this greedy pussy… fuck, I see all of it.” His fingers slide down the column of my throat, wrapping around it just enough to make my breath hitch. “I could fuck you until your body forgets how to do anything but come for me.”

I moan from the way his pelvis grinds my clit, the friction sending a rush of heat through my stomach.

His mouth curves faintly, dark with satisfaction. “Come for me. Eyes on me while I watch you fall apart.”

My thighs lock around his hips, holding him to me as my breath breaks into filthy, helpless sounds. Every grind of his pelvis against my clit lights me up until I can’t take it—

And suddenly the orgasm rips through me. It’s so brutal it steals every breath until I’m gasping into the heat between us.

Every slow drag out and hard push back feels so fucking good.

Then he stills, stays buried to the hilt, cock locked inside me while I pulse around him, making sure he catches every single spasm.

After a beat he starts to move again, long, ruthless thrusts that drag over every raw, over sensitive nerve until I’m squirming under him again.

“Yeah,” he breathes against my mouth, the words almost a growl. “Take it… fuck, you’re perfect.”

I moan into the kiss. Every nerve feels frayed, begging for more even while my body fights to keep up.

He pulls almost all the way out, before he buries himself to the hilt again with a groan that sounds torn in half.

His hips jerk once, twice, then lock, every muscle in his body tensing.

Shoulders rigid, stomach drawn tight, thighs steel against mine.

His eyes screw shut, brow furrowed, mouth falling open in a silent gasp before a broken, guttural sound tears free.

The hot, rhythmic throb of his cock pulses deep, spilling into the condom in thick, heavy bursts.

“Fuck… Quinn…” The sound of my name leaves him in a raw groan, rough and frayed.

He stays there, for a moment not moving, buried deep, jaw locked, face caught between strain and surrender. Slowly, the tension starts to bleed out of him, and his hips begin to move again.

He fucks me through it, keeping me pinned in that haze where pleasure and oversensitivity blur, drawing it out until I’m breathless beneath him.

His forehead rests against mine, his breath hot.

He keeps the rhythm unhurried, as if wringing every last drop of pleasure from what we’ve already given each other.

Only when my nails dig into his back in a silent plea does he finally still, holding there, chest slick against mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress while faint twitches still run through both our bodies.

Nate fucks with a force that owns me from the first thrust. But Theo builds it.

He doesn’t simply take me, he shapes every move.

Each slow drive is measured to wind me tighter, to pull every nerve in my body into a sharp, aching point.

And when he finally lets me fall, it isn’t an orgasm—it’s a detonation.

After a long minute, he eases out of me, both of us still trembling in the aftershocks. He ties off the condom, tosses it into the trash by the bed, then comes back immediately.

The sheet whispers over our sweat-slick skin as he pulls me into him. His heat closes around me until the world narrows into this cocoon. Only his body, his scent.

He shifts onto his side, facing me. His fingers find my face, tracing over it with a quiet certainty, the pad of his thumb brushing beneath my eye in a way that steals my breath. His hair is mussed, mouth flushed and swollen, eyes carrying a softness I’ve never seen in them before.

Theo has always been the restless one. The quick grin, the smart line, never lets anyone get too close. But here, he’s still. Quiet. Every touch from him tells me this wasn’t only sex for him. It was something he needed. Something I’m not sure he’s ever let himself have before.

This side of him is new, unsettling in its gentleness. And in this moment, it’s more intoxicating than anything that came before.

“You okay?” His voice is quiet.

I nod, still catching my breath, my lips curving without thought. “More than okay.”

A kiss lands on his collarbone.

I let the silence cradle whatever it is he is not ready to say.

His arm comes around me, pulling me close, his grip steady as though he fears I might slip through his fingers. The beat of his heart under my cheek is almost too much; it carries trust and something deeper than I can name, and it terrifies me.

The room holds its stillness, broken only by the sound of our shared breaths.

His fingers trace a slow path along my spine, every touch unhurried, almost reverent.

My eyes close, and I let the warmth of him pull me toward sleep, knowing I have never felt him this way before… and uncertain if I ever will again.