Chapter 7: Ride me, use me
“Ride me,” Joseph whispered, his voice raw. His hands came to rest on her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin. “Use me.”
Bella shifted, straddling him where he sat propped against the headboard. The late afternoon light through the ivy-framed window cut across his chest, highlighting the tension in his shoulders. She hovered over him, the heat of him palpable against her core.
Slowly, so slowly, she lowered herself. Just the tip of him brushed against her entrance, a slick, electric promise. He felt thicker than she remembered. She shifted, rubbing him slowly through her wet folds, teasing them both, drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes darkened with a need that mirrored her own. Then he moved, a single, deliberate thrust upward, just the head of his cock sliding inside.
She gasped. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers threading into the black, fluffy hair at his nape. They held each other’s gaze, a silent conversation of ruin passing between them.
She lowered herself halfway onto him, stopping. The stretch was exquisite, a fullness that was entirely different from the first time. This wasn’t a accident born of blurred lines and cheap Cabernet. This was a choice. She felt like she was reclaiming him, claiming this version of them that existed outside of any mistake.
Her head fell back, a helpless sound escaping her throat. “Fuck,” they cursed in unison, the word a ragged sigh in the sunlit room.
He didn’t move. His whole body was coiled, the muscles in his abdomen rigid with the effort of stillness, but he held himself in check. He leaned forward, pressing a single, hot kiss to the pulse point on her neck. When he leaned back to look at her, her eyes were closed, her mouth agape with sensation.
She opened her eyes, finding his. Without breaking that gaze, she sank down the rest of the way.
He bottomed out inside her, a deep, complete filling that stole the air from her lungs. “Oh my—” The words were cut off as she cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound.
She clenched around him, a tight, pulsing shockwave. “Ohh, fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping back against the carved mahogany. The sound was one of pure, shattered relief.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. They simply breathed, locked together, feeling the aftershocks of that initial joining ripple through them. The scent of their skin, lavender soap and sweat and sex, hung heavy in the honeyed air.
His hands smoothed up her back, feeling the shudder that ran through her. “Okay?” he breathed, his forehead coming to rest against hers.
“More than,” she whispered back, her voice shaky. She began to move, a tentative rock of her hips.
It sparked something. A low groan built in his chest. His hands tighten