Page 32 of Dissonance

“Mmm, Lockie.”

Trailing my hands down her sides, my thumbs hook into the waistband of her panties. She’s already trying to kick them free before I’ve got them past her knees, refusing to break the kiss, and the desperation of it undoes me completely. I pull the lace from her feet, and she opens for me, her body warm against mine, the feel of her, soaked and ready, nearly ending things before they’ve started.

“Please,” she sighs against my lips, not something I expected the first time I heard it from a woman who operates entirely on principle. But every time, without fail, it destroys me.

“I love how wet you are already, sweetheart,” I groan, feeling the pool of her arousal slick over the head of my cock.

“Then do something about it,” she murmurs, and the teasing bite in her voice makes me grin even now.

“What if I wanted to take my time?”

Her hand wraps around my cock, squeezing once before guiding me to her entrance.

“I see. You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“Stop talking, Lockie,” she moans. “Are you still good?”

“Aye.”

“Me too, and I’m still on the pill.”

The last threads of my restraint snap. I drive forward, sinking inside her, and stop, buried deep. The tight heat of her cunt clenching around my cock is like coming home after months of being deployed. The sound she makes when I fill her goes through the room, her breaths punching out against my neck. My forehead drops to hers, because I need this moment. Her wrapped around me, hands clutching at my shoulders, breathing already wrecked.

I’m gone.

“Thea,” I breathe against her temple. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her fingers tighten, hips tilting upward, urging, and with the wee eager sound she makes, whatever reprieve I needed is done.

We find a rhythm that’s anything but gentle, her nails raking down my back, my hips pistoning forward until she’s crying out with every thrust, the headboard striking the wall. It’s raw and relentless, the kind of connection I’ve been craving since I walked out of that hotel room twelve years ago and every time since.

Each time I pull back, she chases me. Each time I sink forward, her back bows off the mattress.

“Lockie.” Her head tips back, throat bared, the long line of it flushed. “Oh—right th—”

I move one hand between us, palm dragging across her nipple, feeling her shudder, rolling the peak between my fingers until she clenches around my cock, and I nearly lose it.

“That’s it,” I breathe against her skin, doing it again, watching her face, reading every expression. “Let go.”

Her nails break skin, her thighs locking around me. “There— Yes, right there— I’m—”

“I know.” My mouth finds her throat, that spot below her ear that’s always undone her, lips pressing firm as I pick up the pace. “I can feel how close you are. Come for me, sweetheart.”

Her eyes squeeze shut as her mouth falls open in a silent cry. For one suspended second, her whole body pulls taut. She clamps down around me so hard that she pulls me straight over with her. I slam home once, twice, and spill into her with my face buried in her neck, her name the only coherent thing left in my head.

She’s panting, sated and so fucking beautiful, arms spread wide on the bed, hair clinging to her temple. Her legs slide slowly off me as I pepper open-mouthed kisses to her throat, her collarbone, her shoulder, tasting the salt on her skin, unwilling to stop touching her yet.

I pull out carefully, disappear into the ensuite, and come back with a warm cloth. She’s barely moved, eyes closed as her chest rises slowly, one arm thrown above her head, the last of the tension leaving her body in increments. In the darkness of her room, she looks younger, softer, the version of herself she keeps locked away from everyone.

Everyone but me.

She hums when the warmth touches her skin, lashes fluttering open for just a second before drifting shut again. I clean her up with a gentleness that feels almost reverent, softer than everything that came before it. Tossing the cloth to the floor, she starts to move, slowly pulling herself toward the pillows, reaching for the side closest to the door.

“Get that perfect ass to the other side of the bed,” I say, hand closing around her ankle.

“This is my side,” she says, fighting a yawn.

“Not tonight. I’m not having you near the door.”