Page 65 of Deep Feelings & Shallow Graves

“I’ve got you,” I say. “You’re safe. You’re everything.”

She hums, hands stroking along my ribs, up my back. “You’re different after.”

“After?”

“After you fuck me like you’re going to break me.”

I chuckle, low in my chest. “That’s because I do break you.”

“Mm. Maybe a little.”

“I’ll always put you back together,” I promise. “Every time. You’re precious to me. I don’t take that lightly.”

She kisses my collarbone. “I know.”

We lie there in the dark, limbs still sticky, skin overheated, but nothing in me wants to move. I could keep her like this forever.

I’m half gone. Floating.

Her body sprawled over mine like a warm silk blanket. My fingers are still tracing lazy patterns along her spine, chest rising and falling under hers. The scent of her is in my lungs, my mouth, soaked into my skin.

And then she shifts.

I blink, startled as her thigh swings over mine and she straddles me.

“Hey,” I start, but she shushes me with a kiss. Not rough. Not needy. Just full of knowing.

“I’m not done with you,” she whispers, voice all husky velvet. “That okay?”

Okay?

She’s sitting over my cock like she owns it and I’m already getting hard again. I nod, jaw tight, heart thudding so hard I swear she can feel it.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she says, grinding slow against me, wet heat slicking my length. “You take such good care of me. I want to take care of you.”

Christ.

Her hand wraps around me, lines me up, and then, sweet fucking heaven, she sinks down. Slow. Torturous. Perfect.

My hands clamp to her hips, instinct and reverence colliding. “Jesus. Dove…”

She moves, a slow roll of her body like waves lapping at the edge of something sacred. No urgency, just connection. Just her giving, and me barely able to take it.

“You feel so good,” she breathes, nails scraping lightly down my chest. “So full. So deep.”

My head tips back. I groan.

She’s riding me like I’m the one who needs worship now. And fuck if I don’t. My hands keep finding her waist, her thighs, her hair. I can’t choose what to hold on to.

“You make me feel everything,” she says, leaning down, kissing my throat. “Like I’m real. Like I’m wanted.”

I look up at her, breath shattered. “You are. You’re mine.”

She smiles, eyes wet with emotion but burning. “Then let me be yours. Like this.”

Her pace stays gentle, unrushed, and it’s killing me. This isn’t about fucking, this is making love, and it’s undoing me far more than rope or pain ever could. My body tenses, that knot of pleasure winding higher, hotter, as she rides me to the edge.

I try to hold off, to let her keep this rhythm, this gift. But she leans in and whispers against my lips, “Come for me, Edgar.”

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