Page 33 of Formula Freedom
Reid kisses me like he knows this moment matters—not just physically, but for everything that’s come before. For all the words we haven’t said and the years we spent tiptoeing along the edges of something we never gave ourselves permission to explore.
His hand trails down the center of my body, fingertips gliding across my stomach, then lower. When his fingers slip between my thighs again, it’s with confidence, care and no hesitation. My hips rise to meet his touch, a gasp slipping from my lips.
God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. Since I’ve felt likeme.
He strokes me slowly, learning every sound I make, every shiver and roll of my hips, until I’m trembling with need. He knows what he’s doing—always has—and he’s so attuned to my body, I forget how to think.
When I reach down and wrap my hand around him, he lets out a rough exhale against my neck. I stroke him slowly, savoring the weight and heat of him in my palm. The rhythm we find is instinctual, like no time has passed at all, like this has been waiting for us all along.
Our lips meet again—open-mouthed, breathless—and it’s messy and perfect andreal.
I don’t even know how he gets the condom, but it’s on and all I know is he’s at my entrance, the heat of him poised and ready, and I hold my breath as he presses inside.
My back arches. My fingers claw into his shoulders.
The stretch is exquisite. Full. Right.
He groans low in his throat, like being inside of me is everything.
And then he starts to move.
Slow at first. Measured. He rocks into me with long, deep strokes that make me forget my name. I meet every thrust, hips tilting to draw him in deeper, chasing the friction, the connection, the heat.
He braces himself on one arm and slips the other hand between us again, his thumb circling exactly where I need it. I gasp, arching beneath him, the pressure building impossibly fast.
My fingers tangle in his hair. My lips drag across his jaw, his neck, whatever I can reach.
It’s too much. Not enough. Everything at once.
The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave—fast and unstoppable. I cry out his name as my whole body clenches around him, stars exploding behind my eyes. Reid curses low and buries his face in my neck, thrusting hard once, twice more before he groans and shudders, hips stuttering as he follows me over the edge.
We stay connected like that for a long moment—his body heavy over mine, my legs still locked around his waist, both of us panting, stunned.
Eventually, he lowers himself gently to my side, shifting so I’m half on his chest, his arm wrapping around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe it is.
We lie there for a moment, tangled and breathless, the air heavy with everything we just did. “I’ll be right back,” he says, giving me a kiss to the forehead before he exits the bed.
“Let me get rid of the condom.”
He’s quick about it, sliding back in next to me. I rest my cheek on Reid’s chest, the rise and fall of his breathing steady beneath my ear. My fingers trace idle shapes over the smooth skin of his ribs, and I can still feel him everywhere—his hands, his mouth, the quiet way he looked at me like I was something sacred.
It should be complicated.
But it isn’t.
Not yet.
He brushes his hand slowly up and down my spine, not saying anything, just keeping me anchored. And for a moment, I think maybe we don’t have to talk. Maybe we can just let it be what it is.
But I can’t sit with silence forever. Not after something like that.
“Do you ever think about that night?” I ask quietly. “The summer after uni. When we…”
Reid doesn’t answer right away. His chest rises on a deep breath, and his hand pauses at the small of my back.
“Yeah,” he says. “More than I’d like to admit.”
