Page 71 of The Space Between
“I’ve got you, baby” he murmurs. “Let go.”
And… I do.
Because somehow, with him… with this broken, beautiful man…I’m not afraid to fall anymore.
I scream his name into the trees, “Gruene…” as my body bucks and quivers.
When he rises, my body is still trembling from the aftershocks of my intense orgasm.
But it’s not over… not even close.
His eyes lock on mine, wild and dark, as he manages to push his soaked jeans down over his hips. He yanks his boxers with them and tosses both to the grass behind us.
He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t hesitate. He just lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist, and he slides into me in one perfect, impossible thrust that steals my breath and gives me life in the same second. “Oh myGod—” I gasp, clinging to his shoulders.
His hands grip my ass, holding me steady, his mouth pressed to my temple as he stretches me. “Say my name,” he breathes as my pussy pulses around him.
“Gruene.” I groan as he moves.
“Again.” He growls, pumping into me, again.
“Gruene...” I moan.
The water laps at our waists, splashing onto our chests, as he moves inside me—slow and deep, stretching me, filling me, bottoming out and hitting that sweet spot, again and again, like he’s trying to memorize every sound I make… every shiver… every broken breath.
It’s so intense. It feels so good. I’m so full… I don’t know what to do with it. But I wantmore.
My heart is a live wire. My lungs can’t keep up with my breathing. My skin is too tight, too raw, tooreadyand every thrust makes me burn.
He buries his face in my neck and whispers something I can’t make out, something that sounds like “please” and “more”and “don’t go”.
His hips jerk, he’s slamming up into me so fast that his balls are slapping against me and my clit is being stimulated as I grind down against him. My nails dig into his shoulders as I use them and my hips to fuck him back. My body tightens, my vision blurs, and I bite his shoulder to keep from screaming as I come. It triggers his release and we’re crashing together… hard, fast, and so fuckingreal.
A strangled moan is pressed against my throat, as his whole body shakes with the intensity of his release.
We’re both gasping, trying to fill our lungs with air. We don’t separate right away.
He stays buried in me, his arms wrapped around my back, his sweaty forehead pressed to mine. My hair is soaked from river water and sweat and sticking to both of us.
As I ride out my sexual high, for the first time, I feel like maybe this isn’t just about drowning anymore.
Maybe we’re both learning how tobreatheagain.
Together.
We dress in silence.
But it’s not the bad kind. It’s not the Tyler kind.
And I hate that I’m even comparing the two.
Gruene is nothing like Tyler.
Tyler is poison. Gruene is… hope.
Our silence is full, thick with unsaid things and soft glances and that strange, gentle ache that comes after experiencing something so intimate it feels like prayer.
When he hands me my shirt, his fingers linger on mine. When he tucks my wet hair behind my ear, his knuckles tremble. And when I whisper, “Thank you,” I don’t mean for the orgasm.
