Page 78 of Faking It For Real

I moaned, pressing myself against his hand, needing more friction, more pressure. He seemed to understand, his fingers moving faster, his thumb becoming more insistent. Just as I felt the familiar tension begin to coil tightly within me, he shifted, withdrawing his hand. I let out a frustrated whimper.

"Easy," he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my skin. He positioned his cock against my pussy. I lifted my hips, guiding him.

He entered me slowly, stretching me, filling me. I gasped, clutching his shoulders as our bodies adjusted. He paused, deep inside me, letting me savor the feeling of fullness. Looking up, I could just make out the intense expression on his face.

"Okay?" he whispered.

I nodded, unable to speak, just tightening my pussy muscles around his dick in answer.

He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that felt profoundly intimate. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t demanding. It was a shared exploration. My hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles clench and release with each thrust. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

The pace gradually quickened, his thrusts becoming stronger, reaching deeper. I met him, matching his rhythm, our bodies moving together as one. The sounds in the room changed – soft sighs turning into moans, the steady rhythm of the bed frame joining the chorus of our breathing. He rolled us gently, shifting our position so I was lying on my side facing him, his body curled around mine, his cock still buried deep inside me. He reached around, cupping my breast, his thumb teasing the nipple as he continued his steady rhythm from behind.

"Look at me," he commanded softly. I turned my head, meeting his intense gaze. Seeing the emotion there, the tenderness mixed with raw desire, sent a fresh wave of heat through me. He leaned in, kissing me as he moved within me. The combination was intoxicating.

He pulled back slightly, whispering my name, telling me how good I felt, how much this meant. His words, combined with the physical sensations, pushed me closer to the edge. The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter until I couldn't hold back.

"Ethan!" I cried out, arching against him as my orgasm crashed over me, wave after wave.

My release seemed to trigger his own. With a final, deep thrust and a guttural groan, he stiffened, spilling his cum deep inside me. His forehead rested against my back, his breathing harsh and ragged. We stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, hearts pounding, the echoes of our climax slowly fading in the quiet room.

He eventually withdrew, rolling onto his back and pulling me against his side. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. He stroked my pussy idly, his touch comforting, possessive. Outside, snow continued to fall silently, blanketing the world in white. Inside, wrapped in the warmth of Ethan’s arms, feeling the undeniable reality of our connection, I had never felt safer, or more exposed.

I woke the next morning to the soft sound of snow falling outside our window. The room was bathed in the pearly gray light of early dawn, casting everything in gentle shadow. The fire had died completely, leaving a slight chill in the air that made me burrow deeper under the comforter.

Our hands were no longer linked, but somehow during the night, Ethan's arm had found its way across the diminished wall, his hand resting near my shoulder.

I lay still, watching him sleep. His dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, his mouth slightly open, utterly defenseless in a way I never saw when he was awake.

Without thinking, I reached for my camera on the nightstand, framing a shot of his profile against the window, where snowflakes drifted lazily past the glass. The quiet click of the shutter stirred him, and his eyes blinked open, finding mine immediately.

"Morning," he murmured, voice husky with sleep. "Were you taking pictures of me?"

"Professional habit," I deflected, setting the camera aside. "The lighting was good."

He smiled, making no move to retract his arm. "I didn't drool, did I? That would ruin my captain image."

"Your reputation is safe," I assured him. "Very dignified sleeping."

He stretched, his t-shirt riding up slightly to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his waistband. I averted my eyes, suddenly very interested in a loose thread on the comforter.

"Coffee?" he offered, sitting up and running a hand through his thoroughly disheveled hair.

"God, yes. I'm barely human without it."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching again before padding to the small coffee maker on the dresser. I watched him move around the room with easy domesticity, measuring coffee, filling the water reservoir, finding mugs in a small cabinet.

He returned to the bed, sitting on the edge of my side and offering a steaming mug. "No milk, sorry. But I remembered you take it with sugar."

"Thanks," I said, taking the cup and cupping my hands around its warmth. Our fingers brushed in the exchange, and my gaze lifted to meet his.

Something shifted in his expression as he looked at me. He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face with gentle fingers.

Time seemed suspended as we looked at each other, the air between us charged with possibility. He leaned closer, and I found myself tilting toward him, coffee forgotten in my hands.

His lips were inches from mine when a pounding on our door shattered the moment.

"Breakfast in twenty minutes!" Dylan's voice called through the wood. "Coach says if you're not there, you're doing wind sprints in the snow!"

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