The end of Just a Little Tale

[al****]

“You,” she whispered.

That single word, heavy with need, sealed the moment between them. Her surrender wasn’t desperate — it was deliberate. And he felt it in his bones.

His grip on her hair tightened slightly as he tilted her head back further, exposing the slender column of her throat. Then he kissed her — not gently, not softly, but like he owned her. His mouth captured hers with raw urgency, tongue demanding and exploring, taking her completely off guard.

She gasped against him as he deepened the kiss, letting her chase him, then turning the tables. When her tongue pushed into his mouth, he closed his lips around it and sucked hard. The sensation sent a jolt through her body — her knees nearly buckled.

She had never been kissed like that.

His hands roamed again — one dragging down her spine to rest possessively on her hip, the other sliding between her thighs. The weight of his body behind her, the sheer control in his touch, made her ache for what was to come.

He pressed his arousal between her legs, firm and deliberate, but never fully giving in. Each time she thought he would take her, he pulled back — teasing, denying, training her in rhythm and restraint. It was maddening. It was perfect.

And then, when she thought she could take no more, she pushed back — her own silent plea.

“No,” he growled.

The hand in her hair was released. One hand claimed a breast, the other wrapped lightly around her throat — not tight but present. Commanding. Grounding.

“I decide,” he said, his voice low, dark, and delicious. “Not you. Understood?”

She couldn’t form a word. She nodded, breathless, barely able to stand beneath the weight of sensation.

“Good girl.”

Only then did he let go of his restraint.

Only then did he take what was his.

And when he did, with one powerful deliberate thrust — the forest, the wind, the world itself faded away. She melted in his arms, undone, as he claimed her not just with body but with absolute presence. There was no space for thought. No room for anything but him.


The forest was still.

Sunlight filtered lazily through the canopy above, orange, almost red now, ***ting dappled patterns across the mossy ground. A soft breeze rustled the leaves as if the world had taken a breath and was now holding it, content and quiet.

He exhaled slowly, forehead resting briefly against her shoulder as the tension drained from his body. Then, without a word, he reached around and loosened the belt, carefully freeing her wrists. Her arms fell gently to her sides — not weak, but worn.

He straightened her dress with reverence, smoothing the fabric down over her curves, fingers grazing her skin as if still memorizing every inch. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her hair tangled, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded in a haze of sensation.

He turned her to face him.

Their eyes met — hers wide, a question lingering there, fragile and unspoken.

He answered it without hesitation.

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than needed. His arms wrapped around her, strong and steady, pulling her into his chest. She sank into the embrace, the heat of him, the security, the unshakable calm in his heartbeat.

“You’re safe,” he whispered.

A pause. The words hung in the air, anchoring her.

“There’s nothing to ***. No shame. No guilt.”

His hand stroked her hair, soothing.

“This wasn’t planned,” he said gently. “But it was perfect. Because it was real.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt as the last of the tremors eased from her body. No one had ever touched her like that. No one had ever seen her so fully — not just stripped of clothing, but of control, of armour, of pretence — and held her together afterwards.

He held her like something rare.

Not owned.

Cherished.

[Switch63]

Beautifully written