Page 140 of Hide From Me

I thrust into her in one smooth, slow, agonizing glide—so deep it nearly undoes me, so slow it feels like torture. Every inch stretches between us like a promise I don’t deserve, filling her inch by inch until there’s nothing left of me but the need to stay right here, buried inside her. Her breath catches at the intrusion, a soft, strangled sound, her body tensing at first, then fluttering around me, warm and tight and fucking perfect.

“Jesus—fuck,” I breathe, the words breaking against her lips as I press my forehead to hers. My voice is wrecked, shaking with everything I’m trying to hold back. “You feel like heaven.”

Her moan answers me, soft but raw, arms winding around my shoulders like she’s afraid if she lets go, I’ll disappear. Her nails sink into my back, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep me tethered to the moment, to her. And God, I want to stay here. I want to drown in this.

I start to move. Slow at first. Deep, deliberate thrusts that have her grinding against me, hips rolling like she can’t help it, like her body’s chasing the rhythm as much as mine is. The trunk of the car thuds softly behind her with every push, every drag of my cock stretching and filling her, claiming her in ways I’m too far gone to even regret. Her head tips back, lips parted, a sharp gasp breaking free before I catch it—my hand over her mouth, palm warm against her skin.

“Shhh,” I whisper, voice dark, rough, filled with a hunger that borders on feral. My eyes lock on hers, storm meeting flame. “You don’t want them to hear, do you?”

She shakes her head, frantic and wild, pupils blown wide, breath hot against my hand. And when I slam into her again—harder this time, deeper—her whole body answers, clinging to me like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin.

My pace builds. I can’t help it. Each thrust harder, faster, the sound of our bodies meeting lost beneath the crash of the ocean and the beat of distant music. Her thighs squeeze me, trembling, heel digging into the back of my leg like she’s trying to brand herself into me. I shift, hike her leg higher on my waist, and the angle has her gasping, biting down on my hand to muffle the sound that tears from her throat—needy and broken and mine.

“You close?” I murmur, breathless, my voice raw and ragged from holding back, from feeling too much. My forehead rests against hers again, sweat mingling, hearts racing in tandem. “Tell me. Let me feel it. Let me have it.”

She nods, fast, desperate, her eyes glassy with pleasure, mouth working beneath my hand, trying to form words she can’t quite manage. And then I feel it—her body locking up, walls clenching tight around me, pulling me deeper, milking me, wrecking me. Her orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave, sudden and all-consuming. She shakes against me, muscles fluttering, gasps muffled against my palm as she falls apart.

I groan, low and broken, biting down on the curve of her shoulder, trying to ground myself, trying not to lose it too soon. She’s too much. She’s always been too much. And I don’t want to let go, not yet. I want to remember this. Burn it into my bones.

When she starts to come down, her breath ragged, body limp and boneless against me, I ease my hand from her mouth. My lips find hers again, softer now, slower. The kiss is reverent, lingering, like I’m terrified of breaking what we’ve built in the dark. Like she’s something holy. Like she’s everything I never thought I’d have.

I pull back just enough to see her face, to smooth the back of my hand along her cheek, brushing away a stray tear or maybe just the sheen of sweat. Her skin is warm, her smile dazed and glowing like moonlight on water.

“I’m not done with you,” I whisper, voice thick, wrecked with need and the fragile thread of control I’m barely clinging to.

Her smile widens, soft and wicked all at once. “Good,”

She gasps again as I thrust into her, this time slower—more controlled, more deliberate. The frantic edge is gone, burned away by something deeper, something that makes my chest ache just as much as my cock. The urgency fades, replaced by a hunger that isn’t about chasing release anymore. It’s about savoring her, every inch, every sound, every breath that spills from those perfect lips. Her breath hitches, soft and broken, and her head tips back against the trunk, baring her throat to me like a gift. I press open-mouthed kisses there—her throat, the delicate line of her collarbone, the sharp edge of her jaw. I map her with my mouth, trying to memorize what it feels like to have her like this, open and mine, because I never want to forget it.

She’s still trembling from her orgasm, small shudders that ripple through her, but she doesn’t stop me. She clings to me, arms tight around my shoulders like she’s terrified I’ll vanish if she lets go. And I might. I feel like a ghost she’s called home, and the only thing keeping me real is the way she holds me.

I bring my hand to her face, fingers splayed across her cheek, thumb brushing the damp corner of her mouth. I tilt her face up and guide her lips back to mine, and this kiss—God, this kiss—is different. There’s no wild hunger now. No frantic, edge-of-a-cliff need. This kiss is gravity. It sinks deep, past the blood, past the bone, right into the center of who I am. It’s the kind of kiss that says this is real. This is us. No pretending, no hiding, no more running.

“Still with me?” I murmur against her lips, voice low, trembling with the weight of it all.

Her eyes meet mine, glassy with tears and pleasure, cheeks flushed, mouth still parted. “Always,” she whispers, and the word wrecks me.

I groan and start moving again, slow and deep, grinding my hips in a rhythm that has her gasping, hips rising to meet me like she can’t bear the space between us. Every thrust is deliberate, every slide of my cock inside her sending sparks through both of us. Her hands scramble up the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me down until our foreheads touch again. It isn’t just sex anymore. It’s not even about wanting. It’s about needing. Aboutfinding the broken pieces we left scattered and fitting them back together, one breathless, desperate thrust at a time.

She presses her forehead harder to mine, her voice so soft it barely reaches my ears over the crash of the waves. “Don’t let go.”

“Never,” I swear, because how could I? Not now. Not after this.

My hand slides between us, fingers finding her clit, circling slow, steady. The way she jolts, the way she tightens around me, it’s enough to make my vision blur. Her mouth falls open, lips quivering, breath catching in a small, choked cry. Her body contracts, clenching so tight around me I swear she’s pulling my soul out with her. Another orgasm hits her—softer this time, but no less devastating. It rolls through her, leaves her trembling and breathless, her warmth dragging me under with her.

I don’t even try to fight it. I thrust once, twice more—and then I’m gone. My release crashes through me, hot and punishing, like a fire that consumes everything but her. I groan her name against her skin, bury myself as deep as I can go, and let it all pour into her. My body shakes with the force of it. I don’t move, don’t even breathe. I just stay there, pressed to her, letting the crash of it all drown me.

We stay like that for what feels like forever. Pressed together, sweat-slicked, our hearts pounding in the same frantic rhythm. The night air brushes against our skin, cool and salty, soothing the heat we left behind. The waves crash somewhere beyond us, steady and endless, like they’re the only witnesses to what just happened.

Eventually, I ease out of her, slow and careful, and she hisses at the sensitivity before letting out a breathless laugh. The sound is soft, raw, and it tugs something loose in my chest. I crouch, untangle the ruined scrap of lace from around her ankle, and tuck it into my back pocket with a grin.

“Those are ruined,” I murmur.

She leans back against the car, laughing deeper now, tired but happy. “Souvenir?”

“You offering?” I tease, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face.

She rolls her eyes at me, but her fingers find my hair, smoothing it back gently. The touch is light, tender, and it nearly undoes me more than anything else tonight. No rush. No heat. Just her. Just this.

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