Zander POV
I twist us until he's lying on top of me, his flushed body draped across my chest like something sacred. His legs fall to either side of my waist, and he groans in protest.
"Zander, give me a break."
I chuckle low against his temple, brushing damp strands of hair from his face.
"Don't worry about it. Just lie there... and let me."
I wanted to give him a break, I really did. But he was so close, his pheremones and so naked and pliant.
I guide myself back inside him with one hand, slow and deliberate, the slide a sinful kind of perfection. He trembles against me, hips twitching slightly.
We both let out a breath at the same time. Mine a groan, his a soft whimper. The warmth, the closeness, the way he fits around me like he was made to—it steals the air from my lungs.
I keep my movements small, lazy, grinding up into him with slow thrusts that drag every nerve raw. It's not about release now. It's about staying connected. About wringing every second of this out until I can't take it anymore, until I genuinely can't get hard anymore, I don't think that's possible but I'm going to try.
My hands settle at his hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there, and I murmur, "You okay?"
He nods against my chest.
"Words, Ivan."
"Perfect," he says, voice slurred and soft, and my heart almost combusts from how wrecked he sounds.
I think I'm in heaven, genuinely.
His thighs tighten around me instinctively as his body begins to respond, slowly moving with me. He bites his lip, and I watch it with rapt attention.
"You like that?" I ask, dragging him down slowly again.
"Yeah," he exhales.
The sound, the expression, the way he moves—I can't help it.
I tilt my head back into the pillow, my jaw clenched tight as I hold onto the rhythm. It's torture, sweet and consuming.
I trace the dip of his waist, the curve of his back. He's a masterpiece, and I want to memorize all of it.
The air is thick with pheromones and heat, our bodies tangled in sweat and want, but there's something more tender beneath it—a hunger that isn't just physical.
He leans forward, lips ghosting against my neck. "Zander," he murmurs, breath catching.
I kiss his shoulder in response. "I'm here."
He starts to move with more purpose, each motion slow and deep. I match him, guiding his hips in a rhythm that leaves us both breathless.
The bed creaks, the air hums, and the only sounds are our ragged breathing and soft moans echoing between us.
"You're mine," I whisper, pulling him down so our foreheads touch.
"I know," he answers, and it sounds like a promise.
He shudders as another wave of sensation runs through him, and I cradle the back of his head, kissing his temple.
"You're doing so well," I murmur. "So perfect for me."
He exhales shakily, clinging tighter.
I thrust up just a little harder, and he gasps.
"I could do this forever," I confess, and I mean it.
We shift again, and now Ivan is sitting upright, straddling me, his hands braced against my chest. I let him take control of the rhythm, hands on his hips as he begins to move with small, deliberate rolls. His head falls back, lashes fluttering, and the look on his face nearly undoes me.
I sit up, chest pressed to his, arms wrapping around his waist as I kiss his throat, his collarbone, anywhere I can reach. He breathes my name like a prayer, and I know in that moment I'd give him anything he asked for.
"Better?" I murmur, lips ghosting over his ear.
He nods against me, jaw slack, voice too wrecked to respond.
"Say it, Ivan. I want to hear you."
"I love it," he breathes.
We move slowly, like the world has stopped spinning outside this cottage, outside this bed. It's a rhythm made of breath and heartbeat, of stolen glances and soft gasps. I memorize the curve of his back under my hands, the way his thighs tremble when I touch the base of his spine, the breathy way he says my name when I kiss his shoulder.
I think I could die like this.