The certainty in her voice is my undoing. I settle between her thighs, our bodies aligning perfectly, and when I finally push into her, the sensation is so overwhelming, I have to pause, forehead pressed to hers, breathing ragged. It's too much—the heat, the tightness, the knowledge that this is Madison, that we're finally here after years of wanting. I know if I’m not careful, I’ll lose my mind within only a couple of seconds, and I refuse to do that to her.
"You okay?" she asks, her hand cupping my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the intensity of the moment.
I nod, not trusting my voice. I'm more than okay—I'm drowning in her, in us, in this moment I've dreamed about for so long. The reality of it surpasses every fantasy, every midnight thought, every stolen daydream.
I pull back slightly before pushing into her again, and we both groan at the sensation. The way she grips my cock has stars flickering behind my eyes I didn’t realize I closed. I open them to lookat her, to catch her every reaction, hoping this is as good for her as it is for me. Her eyes are hooded, lips parted with soft gasps as I find a steady rhythm.
We move together with a synchronicity that surprises me, like our bodies were made for each other, like we've been doing this forever instead of for the first time. The pleasure builds slowly, intensely, waves of sensation carrying us higher. Each movement is deliberate, measured, a conversation without words—her hands on my back, my lips at her neck, our bodies speaking a language all their own.
She lets out a sharp gasp as I adjust the angle of my hips slightly. “Right there. Please, don’t stop.”
I do as she says, not changing a single thing, watching her face as she climbs toward the peak again, her expression a mixture of concentration and wonder. The trust in her eyes, the way she lets herself be completely vulnerable with me—it's humbling, staggering.
“You going to come for me again, baby?”
She nods with a sharp cry, her pussy tightening around my cock as she’s pulled over the edge, her nails digging into my shoulders. I follow right after, unable to hold back any longer. The most intense orgasm of my life consumes me, and I let go, my cock pulsing as I fill her. I swear, my vision blacks as I ride out the sensations wracking my body.
Holy shit.
As I come back to reality, the world narrows to just her—the feel of her in my arms, of her breath against my neck, the warmth of her body against mine. Everything else fades away into insignificance. There is only this, only us, suspended in a perfect moment of connection that transcends the physical.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. A comfortable silence settles over us, broken only by the sound of our breathing gradually returning to normal.
Her skin glows in the dim light, flushed and warm beneath myfingertips. I can't stop touching her, can't believe I'm allowed to do this now—to hold her, to trace patterns on her skin, to feel the steady rise and fall of her breath against me.
"That was..." she starts, then pauses, like she can't find the right words. Her finger draws abstract shapes on my chest, following the contours of muscle with a thoughtfulness that suggests she's mapping me, learning me through touch.
I tilt my head to look at her. "Yeah?"
A soft smile plays at her lips, those lips I now know the taste of, the feel of. "Different."
Something in my chest tightens, a momentary flash of uncertainty. "Different good or different bad?"
She pushes up on her elbow, looking down at me with those eyes that seem to see right through me, past all my defenses. The sheet pools around her waist, and the sight of her—hair mussed, skin glowing, eyes soft with satisfaction—steals my breath.
"Different good," she says softly, a hint of wonder in her voice. "Really good."
Better than good, if the flush still coloring her cheeks is any indication.
"What are you smirking about?" she asks, narrowing her eyes playfully, her finger poking my chest.
I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingertips linger against the soft skin of her cheek. "Just happy."
Her expression softens, vulnerability flashing across her face for just a moment, quick as lightning but just as striking. For a moment, I think she might say something more, something that would match the emotion I can see swimming in her eyes, but then she lays her head back on my chest, her fingers drawing invisible patterns on my skin.
"Stay with me tonight?" she asks quietly, the vulnerability in her voice hitting me right in the chest. Madison Blake doesn't ask people to stay. She has always been the one to leave first, to maintain distance, to keep walls up high. This simple question, these four words, contain multitudes.
I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, loving the way she fits against me, like she was made to be there. "Try and make me leave."
She huffs a laugh against my skin, the sound warming me from the inside out, spreading through my chest like honey. We fall into silence again, but it's comfortable, easy, the kind of silence that exists between people who don't need words to communicate.
I'm almost asleep when she speaks again, her voice so quiet, I almost miss it, a whisper that might have been lost had I not been so attuned to her.
"Thank you."
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. "For what?"
She's quiet for so long, I think she might not answer. Her fingers continue their lazy exploration of my chest, tracing patterns that leave trails of warmth in their wake. "For seeing me. The real me."
