Page 24 of One Night Flame

That reaction—that—hit me almost harder than the orgasms. Because it wasn’t just that I wanted him.

He wanted me, too. Badly. Visibly. Undeniably.

And suddenly, all I could think about was taking this all the way.

Cord reached toward the nightstand with a muttered, “I’ve got it,” his voice wrecked and rough. He found what he was looking for, stowed in the top drawer as my grandmother had promised—and oh dear God I was not thinking about her right now—sheathed himself quickly, and lay back with his head against the pillow, watching me like I was the one about to undo him.

I was shaking, not from fear but from want. From nerves, sure—but also from how much I wanted this. Him.

No one was making this choice but me.

I straddled him slowly, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His hands gripped my thighs like he wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to flip us over and take control. But he didn’t. He just waited, eyes dark and locked on mine.

I reached between us and guided him in, gasping at the thick, perfect pressure of him sliding inside. I expected it to hurt a bit. After all, it had been a very, very long time. But he’d already wrecked me so thoroughly I was slick and wet and ready for him. The stretch of him filling me burned in the best way. Made me suck in a sharp breath. Made him groan—actually groan—his eyes fluttering shut for a second like the sight of me wasn’t something he could survive.

“Jesus, Lucy,” he ground out, voice hoarse. “You feel…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

I moved slowly at first, testing the rhythm, the angle, adjusting as I got used to the way he filled me so completely I could barely remember my own name.

Cord’s hands slid up my thighs to my hips, gripping tight, but still letting me lead. His jaw clenched, head falling back as I rolled my hips just right.

“Like that?” I whispered, drunk on the feel of him, the heat building in my core again.

His answer was a strangled curse and a helpless thrust up into me that made my whole body shudder. I moaned, bracing my hands on his chest and picking up speed—each grind of my hips ratcheting the pressure higher, the tension coiling tighter, heat blooming fast and hot and inevitable.

This was mine.

This pace. This pleasure.

This man, undone beneath me, worshiping every inch of me with his hands, his voice, the look in his eyes like I was the whole damn sky.

My orgasm hit hard—sharper, deeper than before—and I cried out his name, every nerve ending lit up like fireworks.

Cord surged up into me once, twice, then came with a low, broken groan, arms locking around me as if letting go wasn’t an option.

We stayed like that for a long moment. Breathing. Trembling. Clinging. Wrapped in each other like we couldn’t remember how to be anything else.

We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

The room was quiet but for the rush of our breaths and the thud of our hearts trying to settle into something resembling normal.

Sweat slicked our skin. My cheek stuck to the warmexpanse of his chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

He shifted, just enough to press a kiss to my temple, and something inside me trembled that had nothing to do with aftershocks.

I closed my eyes and tried to gather my thoughts. Tried to fit this into a mental box markedTemporary.

Just tonight.

Just pleasure.

Just what I needed after too long without anything that made me feel this alive.

But my brain wasn’t cooperating. It kept replaying his hands. His voice. The way he’d looked at me like I was more than just a body to be enjoyed.

My heart fluttered in protest.

I shoved it down.

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