Page 72 of Weston’s Treasure

“Tight, sleek, and hot.”

Through all of this, Weston wasn’t giving me rough, he was giving me slow, gentle glides. I loved it, all of it, but I wanted him wild. Out of control. Mindless.

I pushed my hips back as he thrust forward and moaned when he pressed deeper.

“Harder, honey.”

“Fuck,” he groaned and pulled himself upright. His hands going back to my hips, the pads of his fingers digging in, he was gonna leave a mark, and I was looking forward to that, too. “You need my hand to get you there?”

I knew what he was asking, and miraculously I didn’t think I’d need either of us touching my clit to get me off.

“No. Just your cock.”

“Fucking love it when you talk dirty, baby.”

I didn’t have time to say more. He left me speechless as he pounded into me.

Breathless. His cock created magic. Rough, hard, bliss.

By the time I shattered—which was quick, no clitoral stimulation needed—I was boneless. Weston was not, he was energetic and finished with me on my back, his face shoved in my neck, and my legs locked around his hips.

Then like always, he gave me sweet.

He barely had me settled, pressed close, my head on his chest, our legs tangled, and his hand resting over mine on his chest when he spoke.

“Too rough?”

“Perfect.”

“Need you to tell me if I’m taking you too hard.”

I’d gone from boneless, sated, relaxed to high alert in a millisecond. Weston was always concerned about me, but there was something different in the way he was asking.

“I’m the one who begged you to go harder,” I reminded him.

Weston fell silent and I did, too. I was lost in the feel of his heart beating under my palm, enjoying the rhythm, the warmth, the way he cuddled me close.

My mind drifted back to the car ride and our ridiculous argument over him knowing I was in love with him. How he knew, I still didn’t know, but I was glad he did. It helped that he’d told me, without actually telling me, that he loved me, too. The more I thought about it—the silliness of me being able to turn anything into a fight—the less I could stop the giggle.

“Babe?” Weston’s hand on my hip tightened and I laughed harder.

“I love you,” I announced through my giggles. Weston went stiff under me and I couldn’t help it, that was funny, too. He probably thought I’d finally cracked. “I love you and you love me and I…” I had to stop speaking because my entire body was vibrating with humor. I could barely breathe through it. Tears had started to form and threatened to spill. “Fight about it.” I finally got out.

Weston said nothing, he held on tight until I finally burned myself out and stopped laughing.

“I love you, Silver.”

My breath caught and now the tears that were rolling down my cheeks were different—not from the mirth of my stupidity but from happiness Weston said straight out he loved me.

“I love you, too,” I whispered.

That earned me another squeeze. But something still wasn’t sitting right. Something I couldn’t let go.

“Why’d you ask me if you were too rough?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” I gaffed at the absurdity.