Reining in the race of his heart and the itch up his spine demanding he pull out and slam back in again, Tucker set up a rhythm guaranteed to drive him crazy. A slow, steady in and out that was like a blowtorch to his testicles. He took his time ensuring he pulled all the way out before pushing all the way in again, letting her feel the entire length of him with each thrust, teasing her clit with the crown of his dick with each withdrawal and teasing it again as he ground his pelvic bone with every deep thrust.

Her soft gasps and her low moans were like feathers stroking over his sensitized skin, and Tucker gritted his teeth, ignoring the drag at his loins and the stirring in his balls. He went through The Lumberjack’s stock inventory from earlier tonight, one by one, to push back the climax that hovered so very close, to stop himself from lifting her leg and pushing it toward her chest and hammering into her.

But he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

Coated in a fine film of sweat, he hauled himself up on one forearm and slipped a hand between them, finding the hard pearl of her clit amid the slick heat between her legs. She cried out, her eyes flying open. “God, Tucker, yes.” She grabbed him hard by the shoulder. “There, just there.”

He rubbed her just there, all while keeping up the steady thrusting of his hips and staving off his own orgasm, which was bubbling like a volcano beneath the surface, threatening to blow. And then suddenly she gasped and cried out his name, “Tucker!” as the walls of her sex clenched him hard.

“Yes,” he muttered, his body screaming at him to increase the tempo of his thrusts, but fighting it every inch of the way, fighting for control, fighting to hold on to his own orgasm as she milked his length, magnificent in her thrall. Her hair messy, her forehead scrunched into deep lines of concentration, those kissable lips parted.

Only as her orgasm faded did he submit to his own, but still he didn’t rush. He didn’t hammer or piston, despite the wild urgings of his libido. He didn’t thrash and let himself go. He just gathered her close and buried his face in her neck, keeping up the same pace, sure and steady, his hands twisted in the sheets as he slowly let out the rope, breathing heavily against the river of fire bursting for release from his balls.

And somehow, suppressing the rush of it took it tantric, drawing it out in one long release that he shuddered through quietly, internalizing it as much as possible, trying not to be too loud or animalistic in his pleasure, to keep himself in check despite the mad beat of his heart and the harsh rush of his breath.