Page 143 of Reckless Obsession

My second orgasm hits in long, rolling waves. Thick, hot ropes of cum spill from my cock in heavy pulses as it paints Tristan like constellations— first across his stomach, then higher, streaking his chest, some of it catching the side of his face and the edge of his jaw.

“There’s my boy,” he praises. “Look at that.”

The pleasure is almost too much. My body jerks with every spurt, thighs shaking around him as I keep moving through it, riding him through the intensity until I’m gasping and trembling.

“Fuck, Tristan—”

I don’t get the chance to come down from whatever height my orgasm took me to because in the next second Tristan’s hands tighten on my waist and he pushes me onto my back against the mattress. He follows immediately, burying himself deep inside me again with a low, guttural groan. The sudden fullness after my orgasm makes an uncontrollable whimper escape me.

He thrusts hard and deep, chasing his own release. Each powerful stroke drives him against that overstimulated place inside me, drawing broken, helpless sounds from my throat. His breath is hot against my neck. His weight presses me into the mattress in a way that feels grounding and overwhelming at the same time.

I wrap my arms around him tightly, holding on as his rhythm turns more urgent. Each thrust sinks him to the hilt. I feel his body tense, and his breathing grow rougher.

“Maksim—”

His voice cracks as he buries himself one final time and comes.

I feel the hot, heavy pulse of him spilling deep inside me. Filling me in thick, rhythmic waves. His body goes rigid above mine, forehead pressed to my shoulder, a low, broken groan vibrating against my skin as he empties himself completely.

I hold him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist, keeping him locked deep while the last pulses of his orgasm roll through him.

For a long moment neither of us moves.

Just heavy breathing. The wet heat of him still buried inside me. The sticky mess of my cum between our bodies. The quiet, intimate sound of the cabin around us.

Tristan’s weight settles over me, solid and grounding. His lips brush lazily against the side of my neck as his breathing slowly evens out.

My hand rests at the back of his neck, fingers tracing absently through the short hair there, trying to convince myself this is real.

That he’s real.

That he’s still here.

“When you said you wanted me but didn’t know how to have me,” I ask softly, “what did you mean?”

Tristan stills.

It’s slight. Most people probably wouldn’t notice it. But I feel it immediately—the tension that returns to his shoulders, the way his breath catches before he lifts his head.

His eyes search mine.

I raise an eyebrow, making it clear I’m not letting him dodge this.

He lets out a breath and shifts onto one elbow beside me, leaving enough space between us that I instantly miss his warmth.

“I mean I don’t know how this works outside this cabin,” he says.

“That sounds ominous.”

“It’s realistic.”

“Same thing, coming from you.”

His mouth twitches, but it doesn’t become a smile.

“Maksim.” He looks down for a moment, then back at me. “I’m your family’s lawyer. Your father trusts me with things he doesn’t trust most people with. Anton does too.”

The mention of their names makes the warmth inside me cool slightly.