Justified Touch

Say it

Fingers finding her heat again, already slick, already trembling.

“Still so wet for me,” he muttered. “Still trying to pretend you’re not desperate for this.”

She arched, but his grip on her wrists didn’t budge.

“Beau—please—”

“Oh, now you’re polite?”

He moved slow.

Cruel.

Dragging his fingers in tight circles, dipping inside her, withdrawing just enough to make her hips chase him, then doing it again.

And again.

Each time building the pressure.

Each time pulling her closer to the edge—then backing off.

“You don’t come,” he growled, lips brushing her jaw. “Not until I say.”

She whimpered.

“Say it, Harley.”

“I—I won’t come until you say,” she gasped, thighs shaking.

“That’s better.”

He kept her pinned, kept her wide open beneath him, his fingers coaxing her to the edge again and again—never letting her fall.

“You want to break?” he asked, dark and low. “You want to fall apart for me?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—please—Beau—”

He moved faster now.

Still holding her wrists. Still watching every reaction with terrifying control.

Until her breath hitched.

Until her legs locked around his waist.

Until she cried out—

And he stopped.

Just for a beat.

Just long enough to make her eyes fly open.

Then his mouth was at her ear.

“Come for me, baby.”

She shattered.

Hard.

His hand didn’t let go.

Neither did his stare.

And when she finally collapsed beneath him, limp and shaking and completely broken open—

He leaned down.

Kissed her neck.

And whispered, “Mine.”

She was still trembling beneath him—skin flushed, lips parted, completely undone—and Beau wasn’t close to finished.

He kissed her once. Firm. Deep.

Then pulled back, just enough to see her wrecked beneath him in his bed, her wrists red from his grip, thighs slick from where he’d worked her into ruin.

“You good?” he asked, voice rough.

She nodded.

But there was hesitation now. Not fear. Not regret.

Something else.

Something tighter.

Beau narrowed his eyes. “Talk to me, Harley.”

Her throat worked. “I—I’ve never...”

He froze.

“What?”

She swallowed hard. “I’ve never done this before.”

He blinked once, hard.

“You’re saying—”

“I’ve never been with anyone, Beau.”

Silence.

His jaw flexed.

Then he exhaled slowly, like he was letting go of something primal.

“Jesus Christ.”

He sat back on his heels, eyes dragging over her body—his, now—and ran a hand through his hair.

“You let me put my hands on you like that,” he said, voice lower now. “And you didn’t say a word?”

“I didn’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

His gaze snapped to hers.

And something dark settled behind his eyes.

“Look at me.”

She did.

And what she saw made her breath catch—because Beau wasn’t walking away. He wasn’t scared.

He was starving.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice like gravel. “You’ve always been mine. I’m gonna make this so good you forget why you ever held back.”

Then he stood.

And slowly—deliberately—peeled off his shirt.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him—broad chest, strong shoulders, those thick, scarred arms she’d felt braced around her so many times before.

But when he undid his belt and shoved his jeans down, her breath caught for a whole new reason.

He was big.

More than big.

Thick. Heavy. Already hard from watching her come apart—and now growing even more as his hand wrapped around himself, stroking slow from base to tip.

Her mouth went dry.

Her legs twitched.

And Beau?

He saw every bit of it.

“You’re squirming,” he said, voice like a promise. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make it fit.”

He stroked himself again, slow and rough, the muscles in his forearm flexing as his c**k swelled even harder in his grip.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Let me see how ready you are for me.”

She reached between her thighs, still slick, still aching.

His growl deepened.

“Good girl.”

He leaned forward, fisting himself tighter, jaw clenched as he watched her fingers move.

“You’re gonna feel me for days,” he promised. “But you’re gonna love every second of it.”

And when he finally reached for her again?

There was no more hesitation.

Only heat.

Only hunger.

Only Harley, spread open and gasping, and Beau, taking what he’d already claimed.

Beau’s hand slid from her thigh to her knee, spreading her open beneath him. She was already flushed, still wet from his fingers, and trembling with a mix of nerves and heat that made her thighs twitch.

“I want you to feel everything,” he said, voice rough, controlled. “But I’ll take it slow. You tell me when it’s too much.”

She nodded, breath catching. “I trust you.”

His jaw clenched at that.

Then he reached between them, lined himself up, and ran the thick head of his c**k through her folds—slow and deliberate, coating himself in her slick.

She gasped, arching off the bed.

“Still so sensitive,” he murmured, dragging himself over her again. “That pretty little body’s not used to being touched like this, is it?”

She shook her head.

And Beau grinned—feral, restrained.

“It will be.”

He pushed in—just the head.

She tensed, breath catching sharp in her chest.

He held there.

One hand on her hip, the other brushing hair from her face.

“You okay?”

She nodded, eyes wide, lips parted. “Keep going.”

He eased in another inch.

Then another.

Each movement slow, steady, controlled—but she was tight, gripping him so hard he had to grit his teeth to keep from slamming forward.

“f**k, baby,” he growled. “You’re squeezing me like a fist.”

Her breath hitched, hands fisting the sheets.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, rocking deeper. “Taking all of me. Letting me ruin you nice and slow.”

She whimpered, body adjusting, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as her hips tilted to meet him.

“That's it,” he praised, voice thick. “Wrap those legs around me. Let me in.”

He pressed in deeper until he bottomed out—fully seated, her walls fluttering around him, her breath shaking beneath him.

She felt full.

Stretched.

Owned.