Page 99 of Hide From Me

The heat of her is unreal.

She’s wet. Hot.Grippingme before I’m even inside.

“Jesus,” I choke as she sinks down, slow and fucking torturous. Inch by inch, she takes me, stretches around me, and I have to bite down on my own tongue not to cry out.

“You’re so—”

“Don’t talk,” she whispers, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. “Just feel.”

I groan like a man on fire.

Her hands press into my chest for balance as she starts to move. At first it’s tentative—testing the stretch, adjusting—but then she finds her rhythm, and it’severything.

She rides me like she’s erasing the past. Like she’s claiming every part of me, every inch I’ve kept hidden. Her head tips back, short hair cascading in messy waves, lips parted, breath catching with every grind.

Her body’s electric—wet, pulsing, demanding.

She moves like she owns me.

Because she does.

“Moe…” she gasps, hips stuttering. “Fuck— I’m so close—”

“You’ve got me, Ray. Take what you need. I’m right here.” I pant, holding on by a thread.

Her whole body clenches, her thighs trembling as her orgasm slams through her. She cries out, raw and real, riding it out while I shake beneath her, every nerve ending lit up.

I can’t hold back anymore.

I grab her hips, slam up into her—once, twice,threebrutal thrusts—and I come so hard I feel myself unravel. Like everything I am spills out into her.

She collapses on top of me, both of us spent, breathing like we just survived something bigger than either of us knows how to name and for a long moment, we say nothing.

We justbreathe.

“I thought you’d ruin me, sunshine… but you didn’t.” I run my fingers through her hair and murmur into it, voice soft and full of something I’ve never said out loud before.

She lifts her head just enough to meet my eyes, and I see something flash in hers—something vulnerable and terrified andpure.

I trace down to her jaw, letting my fingers glide over the flushed skin.

“You saved me.”

Twenty-Four

Raylen

01-24-2026

B&B

My palms are sweaty. My mouth is dry. My heart is pounding so hard it echoes in my ears like a war drum. It’s the kind that builds tension before the first bullet flies, the kind that warns you to brace for impact.

I’m not under attack, though. I’m in a quiet room, on a soft bed, with a man who makes my chest ache in ways I don’t understand.

So why the hell am I panicking?

Moe rolled onto his stomach about twenty minutes ago, mumbling something incoherent before stealing every last blanket as if they were a birthright he earned in a past life. They’re twisted around his legs now, clinging low on his waist, barely maintaining his modesty. And yes, he’s a walking sex dream, but that’s not what has me frozen in place.

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