Page 26 of The Space Between
His hands dig into my hips, pulling me to him like he’s waited too long to do it gently, and I give in—completely. My mouth opens under his, desperate and searching, our breaths ragged, bodies slick with river water and heat and something electric humming between us.
We fall into the grass, tangled and wet, our legs slipping against each other, his thigh pressed between mine. He moves like he can’t get close enough, like he needs me under him, over him,aroundhim just to breathe.
And I let him. Because Ineedit, too. Because this isn’t about slow, it’s aboutreal.
“Jesus, Blakelyn,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine, his fingers biting into my waist so hard I’m going to bruise. “Tell me to stop.”
“No.” I slide my hands under his shirt and tug the wet fabric up. “Don’tstop. Don’t youdare.”
Tearing the shirt off over his head, he tosses it behind him. I run my hands over the scars that map his chest, his ribs, his side—every raised line a story he never tells. I don’t flinch. I don’t hesitate, I kiss them. Every single one.
He makes a sound deep in his chest—broken, low,hungry.
“Damn you,” he whispers, gripping the hem of my saturated tank top. “You undo me.”
“Then, let me. Take me.”
He yanks my shirt off, eyes locked on my chest. My bra is equally soaked and see-through. The second the air hits my nipples, they tighten beneath the soaked material. His gaze drops. Darkens. He groans like it hurts and peels it off of me. His pupils dilate as he stares at my bare breasts. “Fuck,” he rasps, lowering his mouth to a nipple.
The heat of his tongue, against my cold flesh, makes me gasp.
He sucks gently, then harder, his hand kneading the other breast like he’s memorizing the weight of it in his palm. I arch under him, my fingers fisting in his hair. My legs wrapping around his hips.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters against my skin.
“You’ve already ruined me,” I breathe, grinding my hips against the ridge of his cock through his soaked jeans. He’s hard—sohard—and I feel it everywhere. My clit throbs with each drag of denim against it, my body clenching with every shift of his hips.
“I need—” I choke out.
He doesn’t wait.
He slides down the waistband of my shorts. Popping the button, he manages to yank the wet denim off. His finger slips beneath the see-through pink cotton of my panties. He watches his hand find my dark curls through the nearly invisible fabric. I watch with him, parting my thighs. He groans when he feels how wet I am.
“Christ. You’re soaked.”
“For you,” I gasp.
One finger slips inside of me, and I moan, my head falling back, my mouth parting on a moan.
Then, two fingers glide in and out.
They curl deep, precise, relentless, while his thumb finds my clit. He fingers me and toys with me, and Ishatter.
“Gruene,” I cry, my voice breaking on his name as my orgasm rolls through me, fast and devastating, wringing every nerve from the inside out. My fingers dig into his forearms as he continues to finger me through my climax.
He watches me fall apart like itwreckshim.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” he growls. “Never.”
When I stop spasming, I yank at his jeans, fumbling with the button. “Off. Please—off.I want you inside me.”
His hands move fast, unzipping, shoving them down. I have no idea how he gets the wet denim and boxers off in one motion, but within seconds, he’s nude. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, and veined. My mouth waters and I lean down, wanting to taste him.
“No time,” he mutters, eyes wild. “Next time, you can have it in your mouth. But right now, I need tofeelyou.”
“Yes,” I whisper, lifting my hips up as he yanks my panties off in one pull. “Now. Please.”
Leaning over me, he holds his weight on his palms as he lines up with my entrance. The head of his cock brushes through myslick folds, teasing me. I moan and lift my hips, trying to take him. He sinks in.
