It’s more than a release. It’s a return. A resurrection.
Like my body finally remembers it’s mine.
Like my soul just slammed back into place.
I cry out, loud and wrecked, and it’s his name—
Ryder.
Again.
Ryder.
Again.
Ryder.
He starts pumping faster. He’s unraveling beneath me, hanging on by a thread. I clench around him again, still pulsing from the aftershocks, and he loses it.
His jaw drops. His eyes slam shut.
“Fuck,” he chokes out. “I’m gonna come.”
“Do it,” I whisper, barely able to breathe. “It’s okay.”
That’s all it takes.
He groans and threads a hand into my hair, gripping tight as he tilts my face toward his—forcing our eyes to meet. His stare is black with need, wild and burning, and he doesn’t look away as his hips slam up, his brow twisted in something like agony—
And then he breaks.
He roars into me, muscles locking, abs flexing hard under my thighs.
I feel every pulse of him spill deep. Every shuddering twitch of his body.
He holds me there, grinding into me, his eyes never leaving mine.
The sounds he makes are pure instinct. There’s no language left.
He sags back against the wall, his chest heaving, his cock twitching inside of me with the last waves of release.
He unkinks his fingers, lets his hand loosen in my hair, and I fall forward and collapse into him, burying my face into his neck and feeling his heart slamming against mine. Our chests rise and fall together for a long time.
He starts to slip out of me, his cum spilling out with him, and still we don’t move.
And after a while the questions start to surface.
What did we just do? And what happens now?
But before I can go too far down that path, he speaks.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
We stand and he pulls his jeans the rest of the way off and we chuckle as we walk upstairs together naked, his hand in mine.
He opens the door to his bedroom and steps aside to let me pass.
The bed is unmade. Probably the messiest it’s ever been. I lie down on the black sheets and he climbs over me, hands planted on either side of my head, his chest inches above mine.