My body was still trembling when he stilled inside me, his weight resting heavy over mine, his breath harsh against my cheek. I could feel his heart hammering in his chest, wild and uncontained, matching mine beat for beat.
But he didn't move.
Not yet.
He stayed buried in me, his body tense, his arms braced on either side of my head like he was fighting off the urge to keep going. His forehead pressed to mine, and for a long moment, it was just breathing—raw and uneven and tangled.
Then he pulled back, just enough to look at me.
His eyes were dark. Still storming. Still dangerous. But there was something else there now—something deeper, hotter. Something that said: I'm not done with you.
Not even close.
"Still with me, sweetheart?" he asked, voice low, gravelly, already curling around the edge of a threat.
I nodded. Barely.
