Page 106 of This Life of Mine

Every breath, every tremor, supported by the certainty of his body beneath mine.

The pressure coils tighter.

“Oh God—I’m close,” I gasp.

He doesn’t slow. He doubles down—tongue firm, mouth sealing around my clit, sucking until the edge snaps.

My valve gives way, and the sensation rips through me with brutal force—overwhelming and incandescent. I surrender to it completely, head falling back against the wall as the pleasurecrests and crashes through my body, carried by sensation instead of thought.

I’m spent yet somehow still charged. Drained—yet radiant.

Like a queen lifted high onto her throne, claimed not through force, but devotion. Elevated by the strength holding me there, by the certainty of his hands, by the metaphorical way he’s kneeling between my thighs as if this is where he belongs.

I’m not small in this moment.

I’m exalted. Worshiped.

Held aloft by desire that bows instead of takes.

He doesn’t let go until he feels it fully pass, until my legs tremble from exhaustion against his shoulders and my grip in his hair loosens.

Only then does he move me—carefully, reverently—carrying me to the bed and laying me back against the sheets.

My body hums, oversensitive, still pulsing with aftershocks.

Alex stands over me, already opening a wrapper with his teeth. He rolls the condom down his length, thick and hard, and I raise my head to look at him.

My breath stutters. He’s fucking perfect.

The sight alone makes heat flood back between my legs, even as a flicker of nerves tightens my chest. I wrap my hand around him, stroking the weight and warmth.

His groan is deep—wrecked.

He strips me down the remainder of the way, kissing every bruise, every scrape—until his mouth finds my C-section scar where he gently plants a kiss. The devotion of it steals my breath.

He’s between my thighs again, fingers sliding through my slick, circling my clit once before pressing inside me.

Even one finger feels full. Two makes me gasp.

By the time he lines himself up, I’m desperate—aching for him, begging without words.

He slides in, stretching me, the aching burn intoxicating.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel incredible.”

I whimper, clutching at him as he fills me inch by inch, until he’s buried deep and trembling with restraint.

“Don’t hold back,” I whisper. “I want all of you.”

And he doesn’t. He drives into me, hard.

The first thrust steals the breath from my lungs, deep and unrelenting, stretching me in a way that makes a cry tear loose before I manage to stop it. He sets a brutal rhythm, hips pushing forward, each stroke hitting deep enough to make my body jolt against the mattress.

“Oh God—Alex,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Not yet,” he growls, teeth grazing my jaw as he lifts one leg higher, spreading me wider. The angle changes everything. He goes deeper—so deep it makes my walls clamp around him, tight and unyielding.

The sensation borders on too much.