Chapter 5: The Ride
Her hands pinned his wrists to the mattress before his head even left the pillow. The weight of her was different here, in the soft light of her room—not just physical, but intentional, a claiming. Her buzzcut was fuzzy against the glow of the salt lamp on her nightstand, her eyes dark pits of focused want.
“My turn to ride,” she whispered, the words a hot breath against his throat. Her voice had lost none of its command, but it was softer now, threaded with something like possession. She shifted, her powerful thighs straddling his hips, and the sheer scale of her eclipsed him. Her stomach, ridged with muscle, pressed against his softer one; her breasts, heavy and pierced with glittering silver bars, pushed against his ribs.
He was already hard again, a painful, urgent throb against her inner thigh. She smiled, a quick, dangerous flash of teeth. “Still working. Good.”
She reached over to her nightstand, fumbling one-handed in a drawer without releasing his wrist. Her grip was iron. She came back with a small, half-empty bottle of lube, slicking her palm before taking him in hand. The cold gel made him gasp, but her strokes were efficient, clinical almost, coating him thoroughly. Then she lifted herself, knees wide on the purple comforter, and positioned him beneath her.
She didn’t lower herself slowly. She dropped, a controlled, devastating fall that sheathed him completely in one fluid, crushing motion. Theo cried out, a strangled sound lost in the sudden groan of the bedframe. She took him to the hilt, her body absorbing the impact with the ease of a athlete. Reverse cowgirl, her back to him, she became an impossible landscape: the broad sweep of her shoulders, the fierce taper of her waist, and then the colossal, mesmerizing swell of her ass, each cheek wider than his thigh, swallowing him into the shadowed divide.
She began to move. It wasn’t a bounce; it was a piston-like drive, her muscular glutes clenching and releasing as she slammed down onto him with a force that drove the air from his lungs. The headboard thumped a steady, protesting rhythm against the wall. One of her hands braced on his shin for leverage, the other reached back to spread herself, to guide him deeper.
“Fuck,” she grunted, the sound strained with pleasure. “Feels like you’re in my stomach.”
Theo could only watch, hypnotized. The view was frankly obscene, her body using his, taking everything he had and demanding more with each brutal descent. She twisted, looking back over her shoulder, her lipstick smeared from their earlier kisses. “You like this?” she panted. “Watching me take it?”
He managed a nod, his voice gone.
She grinned, wild and feral. “Come here, then.” Still impaled on him, she leaned forward, arching her back until her face was near his. She kissed him, a sloppy, breathless mess of a kiss, leaving streaks of cherry-red on his cheeks, his chin, his lips. Each kiss coincided with a powerful downward thrust, merging the sensation of her mouth with the deep, internal claim of her body. “Mine,” she breathed against his stained mouth between kisses. “All fucking night.”
She rode him like that until his legs shook and the muscles in her own thighs glistened with sweat. Then, without warning, she pulled off him with a wet sound that made him groan at the loss. Before he could process it, she’d pushed him onto his side, spooning behind him. Her front molded to his back, her arm hooking under his knee, hiking his leg up. She entered him again from behind, her movements now slower, deeper, a relentless rocking that rubbed him against the sheets with every push.
“You’re gonna feel me for days,” she whispered into his ear, her voice a guttural promise.
They moved through positions like chapters in a mad manual she alone had memorized. Missionary, with her legs hooked over his shoulders, her heels digging into his back as she met his thrusts with a raised-hip ferocity that bordered on violence. Then she flipped them again, mounting him upright, her hands braced on his chest, her head thrown back as she found a grinding, circular rhythm that made her pierced nipples brush his face.
Time dissolved into a sweat-slick, gasp-filled haze. The perfume in the room was now overwhelmed by the salt of their bodies. A stuffed penguin stared blankly from the floor where it had been knocked. The music from her laptop had long since ended, leaving only the sounds of skin, the creak of springs, and their ragged breaths.
Finally, as the deep blue of night began to lighten at the edges of her blinds, she pulled him on top of her for what felt like the hundredth time. But this time, she didn’t guide him into another frantic coupling. She simply wrapped around him, her long, powerful limbs locking him in a vise of slick skin and tired muscle. She held him against her chest, his ear pressed to the rapid, steady drum of her heart. His own body was a spent, trembling thing.
Her hand came up, rough fingers tracing the line of his jaw, surprisingly tender. In the near-dark, her voice was raw, stripped of its usual sharp edge. “My fucking nerd,” she mumbled, the words slurred with exhaustion and something else.
She was quiet for a long moment. Then her fingers stilled on his chin.
“Say it.”
Theo’s mind was fog. “Say what?”
Her arms tightened around him, just shy of painful. “That you’re mine.”
The words should have scared him. In any other context, from anyone else, they would have. But buried in the warmth of her, surrounded by the evidence of their impossible night, he felt a strange, defiant surge of certainty.
“I’m yours,” he whispered into her skin.
Her entire body seemed to soften, the last tension melting away. She buried her face in his hair, and he felt her smile against his scalp. “Damn right,” she sighed, and within minutes, the deep, even rhythm of her breathing told him she was asleep.