Page 11 of Dr. Stone
“You’re right there,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.
“You’re impossible,” I whispered, squeezing my thighs to buy a second of control. It didn’t work. He didn’t let me go. His gaze locked on mine, his touch circling and stroking in a rhythm that stole my breath and set my pulse to match.
Then his head dipped, mouth heading lower, and I froze. “No.”
The word came out sharp enough to stop him mid-breath. Not shame. Not prudishness. I just hated feeling passive, like I had to lie there and take it. That wasn’t me. Not tonight.
He didn’t push back. He met my eyes, read the line I’d drawn, and adjusted without missing a beat. His mouth found my breast instead, hot and claiming, drawing me in with long, slow pulls while his hand kept me teetering where I wanted to be.
The tension coiled tight. Too tight. I needed more.
Every thrust of his fingers dragged me back to moments ago, to the deeper, harder stretch of him inside me—the flawless, consuming way his body claimed mine.
I sat up, fisted my hands in his hair, and kissed him like I meant to steal the rest of his air. “I want you,” I panted against his mouth. “Inside me.”
“I know,” he growled, heat flashing through his eyes.
Instead of begging, I pushed him back, swung a leg over, and straddled his hips. He was already hard and hot against me. I wrapped my hand around him, long, thick, perfect, and his breath fractured like I’d just taken his soul.
I sank down in one slow, claiming slide, and the world tilted. My breath stuttered; my lips parted on a helpless sound as my body stretched around him, every nerve ending flaring awake. I rolled my hips in lazy circles, finding that sweet, addictive friction deep inside, my hands braced on his chest for balance and maybe for sanity.
One of his hands cupped my ass, guiding the angle; the other slid to the small of my back and then into my hair, tilting my head so he could mouth my throat and drag his lips back to mine. He knew exactly what I needed without a single instruction.
“Touch me,” I managed, the words tumbling out before pride could stop them.
“Your clit’s mine.” His fingers slipped between us, finding me with a careful, ruinous rhythm that matched the slow grind of my hips. The sensation stacked and stacked, heat on heat, until I was shaking with it.
We fell into something wild and beautifully reckless. I moved for my pleasure and he met me with unrelenting precision. The yacht breathed around us and I rode the rhythm until it owned me.
“Mm, God,” I muttered, the coil inside tightening, pulling taut. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His other hand tightened in my hair, control and reverence in the same touch. His mouth claimed the frantic beat of my pulse, each hard thrust staking his claim deeper. I felt myself cresting, too fast, too much, and clung to his shoulders like I could anchor the tide.
“I’m close,” he ground out, rough and honest against my skin. “You’re going to finish me, gorgeous.”
A smile curved my mouth even as my body trembled. “Good.”
The first wave slammed into me, low and deep, then rolled in surges that stole my breath. I clenched around him with every pulse.
“God, Andie,” he ground out, his grip tightening, pulling me down to take every ruthless inch as he chased his breaking point.
Then, in a blur, he flipped us, my back to the mattress, his body caging mine, and pushed into me again, deeper thanbefore. “I’m still right here,” he said, his voice shredded and tender all at once. “And you’re not done.”
My answer was a sound I didn’t recognize. My body arched into him; my hands slid over the hard line of his back, nails catching on muscle as the next wave built. He watched me while he moved, eyes locked to mine like he needed to memorize the way I unraveled…and something about that undid me more than anything else.
“Jace…” His name broke on a moan as I shattered again, heat erupting between us, the room going bright at the edges.
He followed with a rough exhale, thrusts turning deep and final, forehead pressed to my chest as the last tremor ran through him. For a long, quiet moment, we just breathed—hearts racing, skin damp, the air salted with ocean and something warm and distinctly him.
“That,” I whispered, still catching my breath, “was worth every second of the build-up.”
He smiled against my skin, lazy, wicked, satisfied. “Gorgeous, I hope you know we’re not done.”
I threaded my fingers into his hair and tipped his head back, loving the way he looked at me like I’d become his favorite kind of trouble. “Good. I wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight.”
We stayed tangled, sated and hungry at the same time, letting the quiet settle around us. Gratitude hummed low in my chest, not the fatal kind, not the kind that begged for promises. Just the rare relief of getting exactly what I wanted and giving it back without strings.
“This is going to be a phenomenal night,” I said, turning my head to catch his eye. “Assuming you can do that again.”
