Page 74 of Iron Roses
My fingers slip lower, exploring the taut skin of his stomach, the flex of him beneath touch. I want to be greedy. I want to press my mouth to every inch I uncover. I want to taste salt and sweat and wind.
His hands slide under my dress, palms warm and rough against my thighs. Fingertips trailing upward until they reach the damp fabric between my legs. He doesn’t hesitate. Just finds the edge of my panties and pushes them aside, baring me to the cool air and his heat.
He leans back slightly, enough to reach between us. I hear the sound of his belt unfastening, the quiet hiss of his zipper drawn down. His pants shift low on his hips, exposing him, hard and ready—thick heat pressed between us, pulsing against the inside of my thigh.
I raise my hips just enough to shift, to guide myself over him.
The head of his cock nudges against my entrance—hot, thick, slick from me—and I let myself sink down.
My mouth parts in a soft, shaky groan.
The stretch is deep. Immediate. My walls pulse around him as I lower onto his length, inch by inch, until I’m seated fully in his lap, stuffed and filled and aching in the best way.
His head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, jaw clenched tight.
I lean forward, kissing him softly.
Just mouths moving together, breath caught between us, tongues barely brushing. I rock my hips gently, grinding into him, circling. The sensation is all-consuming—his cock dragging inside me, thick and hard and perfect, pressing into every spot that makes my toes curl.
He groans low, deep in his chest, hands gripping my waist, thumbs stroking over my ribs beneath the fabric of my dress.
I move in rhythm, up and down, hips rising just enough before dropping again, the sound of our bodies meeting muffled by sand, skin, and the hush of the ocean.
I kiss him through it all.
Mouth to mouth. Breath to breath.
His arms come around me fully, wrapping me in heat and strength as I move on top of him. His hands are wide—one pressed to the small of my back, the other splayed between my shoulder blades, holding me close, like he needs to feel every breath I take against his chest.
I melt into the cradle of his body, hips still rolling in rhythm, buried deep, but it’s not just about friction—it’s about connection. His chest rises beneath mine, his skin damp against my breasts, our pulses thudding in uneven sync.
He leans in, mouth brushing my collarbone first—warm and open. Then he kisses lower, lips pressing just beneath the swell of my breast. I inhale sharply, breath catching as his tongue flicks over my skin, then his lips close around the peak, and he sucks gently.
My body arches. I moan softly, the sound caught between surprise and surrender.
His hand slides up my spine, fingers threading into the mess of my hair. He gathers it, reverently, and parts it with a tenderness that shatters me. He pushes it to one side, exposing my throat, my shoulder, the curve of my neck—and he kisses there next.
He traces the underside of my jaw with his lips, then finds the hollow just beneath my ear and stays there, breathing me in like he’s memorizing every part.
His fingers tighten slightly in my hair—not rough, but possessive—and I can feel the tremble in his arms as he holds me, as he kisses me, as if this closeness undoes him too.
I keep moving on him, aching, as his mouth moves from my throat to my shoulder, back to my chest, like he can’t choose where to worship next.
And all I can do is hold on.
To the rhythm.
To him.
The way he makes me feel like I’m something he never wants to let go.
Chapter Thirteen – Cassian
I’ve walked past this door five times.
Each time, slower.
Each time, closer.
