Page 101 of Break Me

Something in my chest loosens at the words. I turn my head and find his mouth with mine. The kiss is slow. Tongues sliding in the same unhurried rhythm as his hand on my belly. Water sloshes when I twist farther, wanting more of him.

His free hand cups my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until it pebbles tight. A soft sound escapes me—half sigh, half plea. He pinches lightly and rolls the peak between his finger and thumb. The tug travels straight between my legs. I arch, pressing back against his erection, feeling how thick and ready he is.

“Raven,” he breathes, like my name is a warning and a prayer at once.

Reaching back, I find him under the water. My fingers wrap around the base of his cock—hot and velvet-hard, pulsing in my grip. He groans into my mouth, hips jerking once before he stills himself. I stroke him slowly, matching the rhythm he’s using on my breast, my thumb circling the sensitive head on every upstroke.

Sam breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, sucking gently at the spot that always makes my thighs clench. “Tell me what you need,” he says, voice rough. “Anything.”

“You,” I manage. “Inside me. Please.”

He shifts and lifts me just enough so that I can straddle his thighs facing away from him. Water spills over the side of the tub. His cock nudges between my folds, sliding along my slickness. I’m so wet the water barely matters. Every glide sending sparks up my spine.

One of his arms bands around my waist, holding me steady. The other hand slips between us, his fingers finding my clit. He circles slowly, building the ache until my hips rock on instinct.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

Reaching down, I guide him to my entrance. The broad head stretches me as I sink down over his hard length. The water makes everything slicker, slower. Every ridge and vein drags deliciously inside me until he’s buried to the hilt. We both exhale at the same moment.

For a long minute, we stay like that, connected and still, just breathing together. His hand stays between my legs, fingers rubbing lazy figure-eights over my clit while the other cups my breast, his thumb teasing my nipple in time.

Then he starts to move. Not hard thrusts but deep, rolling grinds. He lifts his hips to meet my downward shifts as his cock hits that perfect spot inside me on every pass. The friction builds in layers. The heat of the bath, the slide of skin on skin, the steady pressure on my clit, his mouth at my neck murmuring how beautiful I feel, how tight, how perfect.

My head falls back against his shoulder. “Wolf⁠—”

“I know,” he says, voice strained. “I feel it too. Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

The orgasm creeps up slowly at first, then crashes. My inner muscles flutter before clamping down hard around him. I cry out his name, broken and raw, as waves of pleasure ripple through me, thighs trembling, fingers digging into his forearms. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop touching, just rides me through it with steady, loving strokes until I’m boneless against him.

Only then does he let himself go. His rhythm falters. His hips jerk up once, twice as he buries his face in my neck. His groans are muffled against my skin as he comes deep inside me.

We stay locked together after. The water is cooling around us as his hand strokes my side, gentle now, soothing. He presses a kiss to my temple.

I shiver, a quiet, involuntary movement. Sam feels it immediately. “Cold?”

I nod.

“That’s my cue,” he says, already shifting. He rises first, then turns back to me, as he helps me out of the tub. The air hits my skin, and I shiver again. Sam grabs a towel from the linen closet and wraps it around me, drawing it close like it’s second nature.

“Easy,” he says, low and gentle.

He dries me slowly, deliberately. His hands are warm and careful, lingering in a way that has nothing to do with want anymore and everything to do with care. When he kneels to dry my legs, I rest my hand on his shoulder, grounding myself in the solid presence of him.

We make our way to the bedroom where he pulls the covers back and guides me down beside him, gathering me in until my back fits against his chest.

“Still with me?” he asks softly.

I turn enough to meet his eyes. “Always.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “I don’t even remember what the days looked like before you. Without us, I don’t know who I’d be.”

“I like who you are with me,” I say quietly. “I like us.”

It’s simple. It’s enough.

I settle back against his chest, letting his warmth wrap around me completely. Exhaustion washes over me, and I tell myself it’s normal. That bodies do this.

Tomorrow, I’ll eat more.